10-0
by TheDarkWorldGiant
Summary: 10-0: Proceed with Caution - James T. Kirk is 1st Lieutenant to Alpha Team, FSOC (Federation Special Operations Command.) He and his team are given the task of rescuing the Vulcan Ambassador's family from Romulan occupied Vulcan. Yet when the mission is compromised and the Federation leaves them stranded, it's up to Jim to keep a young Spock safe and find a way off the planet.
1. (Quickly)

10-18:

Around 5 o'clock Jim's alarm rang. The gears connected to the replicator whirled as they started up, awaiting command, while the lighting in the room automatically dialed from a blissful 0% to a blinding 90%.

Jim's eyes tightened as the lights blared over him. Sneaking an arm out from under his sheets Jim slapped the alarm off with a grunt. After a moment he sat up, every muscle in his body begging him to lie back down, sleep for another precious hour. But Jim knew what he had to give up when he joined the FSOC—proper sleep being one thing.

Swallowing down a sticky lump in his throat, Jim finally cracked an eye open. His vision was bleary for a moment and an uneasy wave of nausea hit him. _What I get for having beer before bed_, he thought. Raising a hand to rub out a kink in his next Jim mumbled, "Lights to 60%."

The lights obeyed and the room grew _slightly_ darker. Jim ripped the tangled wad of sheets off his legs and flung them to the side. Cool air from the AC wafted over his bare legs, sending tingles up his thighs and hitting his groin. He blinked down at the rise in his boxers. "Good morning to you too."

Jim slid his legs over the side of his bed and rocked forward. He stood hunched over and wobbling till placing two hands on his hip and arching his back. A loud chorus of pops and cracks echo through the room as Jim's back straightened. Jim let out a satisfied sigh. He walked the few unbalanced steps around the bed before he was face to face with the buzzing replicator. Slumping forward, Jim smacked his forehead to the touch screen.

"Good morning, 51152-45196." a mechanical voice beeped from the small speaker close to Jim's ear.

Jim punched a thumb into the replicator's screen. "Coffeeeee…" Jim moaned then let out a small cheer as he heard the replicator's door swish open. The heavy scent of the brewed drink filled his senses immediately. "Thank you, babe," he quipped, patting the replicator before taking the coffee in his hands.

He never really ate breakfast. His normal morning meal consisted of two or more mugs of coffee and (maybe) the bottoms of the beer cans he didn't polish off the night before. But he was trying to lay off of that though—trying.

Settling on the end of his bed, Jim let his shoulders sag as he took a large gulp of black liquid. He raised his chin slightly, gesturing to the blank holoscreen in front of him. "Holoscreen on." The screen clicked then flashed on. "Channel 3," Jim said, taking another sip.

The screen stayed still before turning to a man and women news team.

"—all eyes were watching as Abrah Pik Dosux, prince to Ipp-Nov 5, was officially crowned Public-Raja. As we all know, Pik Dosux was selected on May 12th, nearly two months after his father, Pik Seosux, was assassinated. Due to this fact, Ipp-Nov 5, and I quote, "waited for the crowning, not wanting for this joyous occasion to fall within the mourning period of the late Raja." Officials have confirmed that Pik Dosux will be traveling to the sister planet AVA-9 for the final ceremonies."

The woman finished speaking and the screen zoomed in on the man. "In other news, can a new form of allege help your body's complexion? Find out af—"

"Who the fuck cares?" Jim muttered, telling the screen to skip to channel 15.

The screen flashed to a group of orange skinned aliens talking in some language Jim didn't know. No translation was provided.

"Channel 11," Jim said, finishing off his coffee. He rose and walked back to the replicator for another cup when the screen flashed to a yellow-eyed standing in front of the large window of a carrier. Jim paused to watch.

"As you can see bellow me, Romulan ships are still heading into Vulcan. A count of nearly 50,000 have barricaded all major exiting ports of cities such as Gol and ShiKahr." The man was practically screaming over the background noise of people rushing and talking around him. The whole carrier was buzzing.

Jim felt his chest tightened. He already knew about _this_. Everyone knew about _this_.

Six days ago, Romulan ships had unexpectedly attacked the planet Vulcan. The rivalry between the two races had always been evident, but as far as Jim knew, they had been at a stand-still for decades. Then suddenly, thousands were forced to evacuate and more thousands died when the Romulans dropped tons and tons of what people were calling "Cloud 9" onto the major cities. Jim had read what "Cloud 9" was, and selfishly thanked his lucky stars that he wasn't on that poor planet.

It was a gas that the Romulans had concocted. If inhaled, it caused massive fevers and reportedly triggered seizures. A report was release two days earlier that FSOC made all members read in case Terra was ever attacked. DAI (death after infection) for Vulcans was charted as 96 hours. For humans, however, it was charted at a measly 48. In all honesty, the stuff scared the living piss out of Jim.

Just then, the screen split and the face of a no nosed women appeared. Her stern faced glared out of the screen. "Von, can you tell us about the plan of evacuation? Is that still in effect?" the woman asked.

Von waited a moment, taking in the woman's words. "Yes, evacuations are still in place. Federation and Vulcan ships that, at the beginning of the invasion, managed to successfully evacuate civilians have turned back and are now hovering just outside Vulcan." The man pointed to a cluster of Federation and Vulcan ships floating lifelessly in darkness outside the window. "Rescued civilians are to be taken to Terra. Federation officials say that some may even be taken to the colonies on Luna—"

"You say the "some" civilians, Jonathan, do you have a rough estimate of how many still remain on Vulcan?" the woman interrupted.

The yellow-eyed man waited a beat. "Ah—numbers of trapped Vulcan citizens have not been released. Estimated, though, we're looking at thousands and thousands of innocents still on the planet."

"Jesus," Jim whispered, leaning to grab his new batch of coffee yet not looking away from the screen.

"I see that as of yesterday, Terra has declared war on Romulan forces, am I correct in saying this?" the woman asked, her dark eyes raking over the papers in her hands.

"—Yes. Terra, in alliance with Vulcan, followed nearly 18 hours after Vulcan officials confirmed war. We are to believe tha…"

Jim felt his breath catch as the reporter froze, raising one hand to press against his ear. Jim's heart lurched as the color in the man's face drained away. "I…I'm just getting report that Vulcan Regar has fallen. Again, Vulcan Regar has fallen. I am being told that Cloud 9 gas is being used and Romulan forces are now 'on-ground'. This is…this…"

The reporter shook his head in utter disbelief and let himself get pushed slightly by the rest of the frantic bodies on the carrier.

Jim stared numbly at the screen as the no-nosed woman took up the whole viewer, video of the yellow-eyed man turning off. The woman looked at the camera grimly.

"As you have just heard, Cloud 9 gas has been dropped along inner Vulcan Regar. We will have more information for our viewers as soon as possible. Our hearts go out to the people of Vulcan. For Central 11, I'm Sandra Gyahpi."

Only when the feed switched to a commercial did Jim shake himself out of his trance. Somberly, he glanced down at his coffee, suddenly sick to his stomach. He placed his mug back in the replicator and turned the holoscreen off. He hadn't been awake for thirty minutes and already he had a migraine.

Being a part of FSOC, Jim wasn't a stranger to death. At time, his job was to _be_ death—to assassinate—to kill the unlawful and save the rest. It was a dirty job, but he wasn't afraid of it. But this, _this_, was nonsense. All of this made him sick, made him scared—no, not scared, nervous, and it took a lot to do that.

Looking at the clock, Jim saw he had a few hours before he was supposed to be at Station 1. He took a moment to just stare at the floor before stripping out of his nightwear and pulling on sweats.

"Lights to 0%," Jim said as he walked out of his room, the door sliding shut behind him. He punched in his security code and turned down the still dark hallway.

0-0-0

By then, the compound would have been full of noise and light; other FSOCs making their way to the rec rooms or the main hall and the sound of the overhead speakers blaring out roll call. But today Jim was alone. He would be for the next couple of days as the rest of Alpha team was on leave. Jim didn't join them, of course. He wasn't a 'let's-take-a-well-deserved-break' type of guy.

_"Just once, Jim."_ Jim could remember Pike shaking his head after he rejected the idea of leave once again. _"Just take a leave once."_

_"I can't,"_ he had told him. _"There's nowhere for me to go."_

Jim reached the rec room and tapped in his code.

It was true. There was nowhere for him to go. Iowa was a hellhole that he had pledged to never go back to and the shitty apartment that UFP had acquired for him in San Fran was just as bad. Floating out on a housing-craft in the middle of space was the only place that Jim had ever felt remotely at home in. Or maybe it was just space—the stars, the darkness and the mystery it held.

Yeah, that was it.

Stepping through the rec room's door, Jim began swinging his arms and quickening his step slightly, getting his blood pumping and body ready for that days exercise. Wearing himself out physically with excess amounts of training seemed to be the only thing that kept him sane on days without missions. It was like he was allergic of sitting still. He needed action, goals to accomplish, all that jazz. It was this "unconventional ambition" (as the councilmen had called it) that had snagged him his lieutenant garbs in the first place. James Tiberius Kirk, the wild card that no one would play but held unlimited potential.

He waited five long years following behind the rest, just waiting to be seen by higher-up. To be recognized as a true hero, like his dad. To be a captain. To have his own team, to have two silver bars to his name instead of one. To be the second Captain Kirk in the family—it was all Jim wanted

And after five years of waiting, hoping, Pike found him and brought him up and Jim wouldn't have it any other way.

"Light to 84%," Jim said as he walked further into the room. The lights flashed on reviling a room full of equipment and mirrors. Jim pulled two black gloves out of a small cubby and slipped them over his hands. "Uh…audio, open_ 'Jim's File'_ will ya."

A small click sounded above Jim's head. The same voice from Jim's replicator spoke, "File opened."

"Play from beginning." Jim sniffed as he sat down of the seat of the bench press. Another click before the speakers that lined the room began pounding out music.

The one good thing about having the compound all to himself was that there was no one there to get mad at Jim for playing his old Terran music.

Jim settled down on his back and lifted his hands to grip the metal bar above his head. He took a breath. Clenching his teeth Jim _pushed_ the bar off its stand. His arms bulged and strained but they soon caught onto the rhythm of up and down—up and down. Beside him, his reflection in the mirrors copied his movements.

Jim granted his eyes to wandered over and watch himself in the mirror. Being only 27, he was still vibrant and strong. His arms were toned and his skin was close to bronze. He was good looking, Jim knew this—for fucks sake, hundreds of women have told him just that since he was still crapping in diapers. He also knew that he could have anyone if he set his mind to it, but he never did.

He'd gotten over that stage of his life—shacking up with someone only to be met with another failed relationship (if you would call them relationships,) running around late nights looking for any willing soul that would give him a good time and a bed to crash in. All that "Jimmy Playboy Kirk" shit went out the window the second he stepped foot into FSOC registration. And subconsciously, Jim thanked God that it did.

After two more songs rolled by, Jim finally placed the bar back on its stand. He let his arms sag and laid still, watching as his chest rose and fell quickly. Beads of sweat roamed down the frame of his face and into his eyes. Jim shut them and let his ears pick up on the song that was playing.

_"No stop signs. Speed limit. Nobody's gonna slow me down. Like a wheel. Gonna spin it. Nobody's gonna mess me around."_

Jim's breath slowly regained its normal speed and he opened his eyes. A dull throb beat against the back of his head, almost in step with the music. Thinking about his life before he shaped up always gave him a headache. Maybe it was just the memory of all the hangovers he dealt with or all the blows he got from stupid fights he'd provoke out behind a bar.

_"I'm on the way to the promised land. I'm on the highway to hell."_

Sitting up, Jim wiped a gloved hand over his forehead then stood up. When memories bubbled up, they always brought the same old ones with them. His mother crying in her room, his stepdad's fists hitting his arms, Sam walking away while he screamed himself hoarse trying to get him to turn back. The same old childhood trauma shit that plagued him every night.

_"—Highway to hell."_

Jim walked over to the other side of the room where treadmills were lined up. He hopped onto one and turned it on. He revved the machine up as high as it would go and started running, _sprinting_ the memories away. The memories of Iowa, the Chevy that he would peek at in the shed behind their house, all the faceless women he'd screwed then tossed, all the times he felt alone.

_"—Highway to hell—"_

All the times he felt like he didn't belong.

0-0-0

For the next two hours, Jim pushed himself. He finished more than a day and a half's worth of training and by the time 9 o'clock rolled around, Jim was completely spent.

He staggered out of the rec room, not bothering turning off the lights or music. An already soaked towel patted against his back as he walked down the hallway back to his room. Jim ripped it off his shoulder and wiped it over his neck and collarbone. Sweat, being hot, clingy clothes—it was the norm for the country boy, but that didn't mean he liked it.

Jim slipped into his room and peeled away all his sweats right there in front of the door. As he walked over to the small bathroom he debated whether to turn his holoscreen on or not. Having white-noise around made it easier for Jim to have white-noise in his head, but he didn't want to see anything more about Vulcan or Cloud 9, none of it.

"Sonics on," Jim said when he secured the sliding door of the shower.

In a moment, blasts of air hit Jim from all sides. He shut his eyes as the sweat and grime on his skin seemed to blow off. In Jim's opinion, sonics sucked. So what if it cleaned more than 96% more than normal water? Actual showers were _heaven_, but that was a luxury that housing-crafts didn't have.

After a minute or so Jim turned the sonics off. He stepped out of the shower and patted himself down with a towel, not like he needed to. It was a habit.

Walking out of the bathroom, Jim stumbled over to his sleeping alcove. He pulled out a pair of black boxer-briefs, a white tank, and black pants from his dresser and got to dressing himself at the foot of his bed. While slipping on his shirt, a small ring came from under him. Jim looked around, patting at his bed and scanning the top of his desk. The ring coming again, this time leading him to reach an arm under his bed. He pulled out his comm. device and flipped it open.

"He-hello," Jim managed suppressing a yawn that caught in his throat.

"Hey Jim, its Hikaru," the voice on the other line droned through the receiver.

Jim brushed a hand through his hair. Hikaru Sulu was 2nd lieutenant for Alpha, one under Jim. He thought of them as friends, but they hardly "hung out" or knew anything personal about each other. But they were brothers. Anyone in FSOC was his family. "Hey Sulu. What up?"

"You see that Pike's pulling half of Alpha out of leave."

Jim frowned and sniffed. "No, I didn't see that. Why?"

Sulu snorted. "Hell if I know. I woke up this morning and my comm. was blowing up. 'Alpha respond, 10-18.' That's all his message said. Finney and Brent got called too. I'm on a shuttle right now, just left Luna an hour ago."

Jim stood and zipped up his pants. 10-18 was code for _Quickly_, yet FSOC never messaged with ten-code unless the message was meant to be private. That worried Jim and the fact that Pike had not sent any such message to him made that worry double.

"Maybe we got another mission," Sulu said after a bit. "No." Jim bit out. He softened. "I would have gotten a comm."

Sulu was silent for a moment. "Jim… I was just wondering…well I overheard a convey from FSOC Eta that higher up might start sending FSOC teams in for evacuation missions on Vulcan."

At this Jim froze. "Is that true?" Sulu added slowly. "Has the UFP said anything?"

Jim blinked and set his jaw. _No_, UFP had definitely not said anything about evac-missions to the occupied planet. "Hush, hush" and "top secret" weren't really a thing amongst FSOCs. One team would get information and pass it on to the next. They were a close knit group here. There were no secrets. There couldn't afford to be.

Returning from thought, Jim flinched inwardly at how still the room had become. Even though Jim was standing he felt like he was miles underground.

"Jim…?"

Jim sighed before standing straighter. "No—UFP hasn't sent anything down my way to imply that we're gonna get…missions." He cracked a weak grin. "What you heard was just more shit coming out of Eta. Rumors."

The line was quiet before Sulu asked, "But is it possible?"

Jim stopped and racked his head for the right words, "Look—we're o-kay. Right now we're o-kay. I know that this is some crazy shit, but all I want you to know is that… I mean what's happening to our allies is complete shit, and Alpha will assist in any way we can, _if_ we're assigned a mission, but other than that, we're still FSOC, we're still separate from Starfleet and military command." Jim could feel himself slip into lieutenant-mode before he was able to shut it off. "So don't worry, o-kay. Don't worry about anything; rumors, missions, fuckin' Romulans, infestation, Cloud 9. Nothing. Kay? Just fuck it."

Jim's words held in the air for a long time after. His attempt at a pep talk had most certainly failed as Sulu answered him heavily. "Alright."

Jim's gut tightened at how low his friend's voice came out. "Look I'm—I'm going to contact Pike and clear all this shit up, yeah. I'll figure out what's going down and get back to you with it."

The line was silent.

"That good with you?" Jim added, louder than intended.

"…Yeah, yeah cool. Thanks Jim," Sulu whispered. Jim's ear pricked as the voice of a woman echo in the background. "Ah, I gotta go, Jim. I'm boarding another shuttle."

Jim blinked and nodded. "Oh, o-kay. Yeah, um, I'll talk to you later then."

Sulu's laugh was distant. "Yeah o-kay."

Jim opened his mouth to say…something, but luckily Sulu had taken that time to end the call. Jim let his arm fall away from his face and shut his comm. He sighed and raked a hand down his face, stopping to let his fingers feel the slight stubble that graced his chin.

_Evac-missions…to Vulcan. Missions to Vulcan._

_Vulcan._

Jim could feel Sulu's words sinking in inch by inch. "Christ…" Jim shook his head as he noticed his hands were trembling.

He wasn't scared, or anything. James T. Kirk didn't get scared. Nervous, anxious maybe, but never scared. Jim flipped his comm. back open and began typing in Pike's number. He'd figure out what was going on. It was probably nothing anyway. Rumors, just like he said.

His comm. buzzed for nearly a minute before Jim shut it then tried again. "Answer the fuckin' phone, Chris," Jim muttered.

The fourth time did and Pike finally picked up. "Pike here."

"Chris? It's Jim," Jim sighed, the tightness in his chest he hadn't notice slowly easing up.

"Jim. I was just about to video you," Pike spoke gruffly and short.

Jim's eyes widened. "Oh. Well, hold on." He walked over to his holoscreen and turned it on. "Video feed," he said to the screen. A small white box appeared with the words WAITING FOR USER CONNECTION written in it. "I'm up, Chris," Jim said back into the comm.

In a moment or so, the holoscreen whirled and Pike's face appeared on the other side. Jim cringed.

The man's face seemed ever worst for wear then usual—heavy black bags hung under his eyes and his greying hair was tossed and lopsided. His mouth was pressed into a straight line and the corners of his nose were arched as if he were holding back a snide comment. Jim watched the older man take his comm. away from his face and shut it. "Hello, Jim."

Jim laughed then hurriedly closed his comm. as well. "Wow. Uh, you…look like hell."

Even if Pike was his superior, Jim never treated him like it. Pike knew that Jim wasn't one for the whole "yes sir/no sir" bit, but he didn't seem to mind. If he did, he wouldn't have pulled him out of the cadet pen in the first place. The corner of Pike's lips curled and he snorted. "Yeah, yeah. UFP's been riding my ass pretty hard the couple of days."

"Oh, and what do they want," Jim said, crossing his arms.

Pike's eyes glanced downwards. "They have a new mission on the table."

Jim felt his pulse quicken. "A mission? Is it Alpha's?"

"Yeah. We were assigned it this morning." Pike's voice came out grim.

"Isn't that good? More missions more credit, right?"

"Hmm," Pike nodded.

"And, uh, why didn't I get a comm. about this?"

Pike hesitated. "…Because I didn't want you to send a notice out."

"Why?"

Jim watched as Pike let out a long sigh and sat back in his seat. He looked exhausted and irritated. "I needed to talk to you about this first, Jim."

"Alright," Jim nodded his head absently, his chest tightening. "I'm all ears."

Pike wiped a calloused finger under one of his sagging eyes. "Yesterday, I met with a man named Ambassador Sarek?" Jim let his face scrunch up in thought. "You've heard of him?"

"Ambassador Sarek… He's the…" Jim's shoulders slumped slightly, "he's the Vulcan ambassador to Earth."

Pike nodded his head. "Yeah. The day the Romulans took Vulcan, Ambassador Sarek was at a hearing being held in Vulcan Regar. He managed to evacuate before the bombs dropped." Pike stopped to stare at Jim levelly. "His family wasn't with him though. They were in ShiKahr when it happened."

Jim's brow furrowed and his jaw tensed. He nodded his head for the Captain to go on.

"His wife and son were never reported on any of the evacuation shuttles nor did their names appear on any of the lists sent in from the accommodation sites. Soon after, the ambassador went to the UFP council and they managed to send a few drones in."

For UFP to send in drones on such a short notice, Jim guessed that this ambassador was more than just a figurehead. He had some credit behind him. "A few days ago," Pike continued, "they found the wife and kid hiding out in some building near the city's central plaza with at least twelve others. A pick-up has been in the works since Monday. They plan on sending us in two days from today."

It felt like someone dealt a blow to Jim's entire body all at once. Goosebumps lined the top of his skin and a shiver rolled down his spine. Two days? Two days from today—he'd be on Vulcan?

For some reason, Jim's mind wasn't able to process what he was hearing.

"Jim?"

"Yeah," Jim's voice came out choked. He coughed.

On the screen, Pike slid his fingers across it. "I'm going to send you some files. Check your inbox."

Jim, almost robotically, lifted his arm and tapped on the holoscreen's face. A small box came up then opened, sliding to the side of the video feed. Three attachments were included. Jim clicked the first one. A map and a list of coordinates flashed across the screen. "That's the pick-up area and some coordinates on nearby on-ground Romulan soldiers; but those might change," Pike said. Jim scanned the map once more before shutting the file.

He clicked on the next one.

To Jim's surprise, a picture of an eloquent looking _human_ woman popped up. Her angular face was framed by long locks of brown hair and her eyes were bright and shining. Jim went on to read the words next to the picture:

"Amanda Grayson…" Jim read out loud. He looked at Pike. "She's the wife?"

Pike nodded, a flash crossing his eyes. "Hell of a woman. Smarter than a whip. She used to be a teacher then she met the Ambassador and has been a member of Vulcan Council since."

Jim mouthed a "Wow" and studied the picture again. She was gorgeous, Jim admitted, and probably was as smart as they came if she could insert herself into the Vulcan's tight-ass, proper world so easily. Jim closed the file and clicked on the last one.

This time, a picture of a pale faced, black eyed young boy filled the screen. The kid had raven black hair that hung in a perfectly straight line above his brow. He looked strict and pulled together, something Jim wouldn't expect to find in such a young kid. He is a Vulcan, he reminded himself—the slanted eyebrows and pointed ears made that clear. But something about his eyes seemed strangely…

Human.

Jim looked at the boy's information. "Sh.. S'ch… Fuck, I can't even say that name," he muttered.

"The Ambassador simply called him "Spock"," Pike piped up. "That's the kid. Only fourteen, but has an IQ way past 200."

Jim shook his head then grunted, "That's not surprising." He tapped on the boy's picture to enlarge it. Jim stared at the pixelated face, gaze always being drawn back to the boy's eyes, till it dawned on him—He doesn't have black eyes. They're brown…

"The drones took a scan of their heart rates when they circled around and everyone's was normal which means none of them have been exposed to the gas."

Pike's voice snapped Jim out of his thoughts. He closed the file. "So…this is why you called back Sulu and Finney and Brent from leave?"

"And a few others. I need my men, Jim," Pike said, almost in a whisper. His eyes were dark. "I need Alpha to be capable right now, and dependable. UFP filed the mission under 'Restricted Viewing.' We're going by ten-code on this one, Jim, and I don't need anyone half-assing around."

Jim bit his tongue as a hard lump formed in his throat and stood up straighter. "Always…sir."

Pike's stare softened. "Jim, I know this is a lot to take in, but I'm counting on you to step up as 1st."

"Absolutely," Jim said, throat dry.

A smile slipped over Pike's lips briefly. "I'll be arriving at the compound tomorrow, and hopefully so will the others. I'm going to want you with me when a video the Ambassador."

Jim blinked. "You're videoing the Ambassador tomorrow—wait, wait! _You're_ going to be here tomorrow?"

"Jim, a mission like this needs a captain. I'm not going to let you brats run out by yourselves," Pike said. "Besides, I haven't done anything but paperwork in months."

But this is way different than any other mission we've had, Jim almost said. "Ah…o-kay. Do…do I tell the others what's happening—"

"No." Pike cut in. "I'll make the announcement tomorrow."

Jim swallowed and nodded. "O-kay."

The two men stayed quiet for a few beats. "Jim."

"Yeah?"

Jim met his captain's stare. "I'll see you tomorrow, 0800," the older man said.

Jim nodded. "Yeah, o-kay."

The video feed hovered for a second, giving Pike enough time to flash Jim a lopsided smile, before the holoscreen blinked off, leaving Jim to stare at his own reflection. For the next five minutes Jim stood still, then fell backwards onto his bed. He landed roughly on his ass and squeezed his hands together.

The image of the Ambassador's son was still lingering in Jim's head. He imagined what the youthful, smooth face looked like now—battered and dirtied maybe, those human eyes wide and terrified as his world slowly fell apart around him. The thought made Jim sick.

Lying back, Jim let his tense shoulders slowly sag. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling all of what Pike had just said still trying to digest inside of him. Everything seemed blurry and just _off_ and Jim didn't like it.

He didn't like that he was being sent to the one place the universe knew he didn't want to go to; he didn't like that Pike had been so sneaky around him up until today; and he sure as hell didn't like how that innocent kid and his mother were stranded on some oppressed shithole planet, so far away from their father and husband.

Jim could feel his eyes droop as he got adjusted in his bed. "Don't worry, kid," he whispered to himself. "I won't leave you there."

The last thought that Jim had before he fell asleep was of how pissed higher-up would be to hear that instead of going to his station he took a nap, and of how Jim didn't really give a fuck.

* * *

_Just got ST:ID on DVD and because of that, my Star Trek love has sky-rocketed! This is just a story I thought up and posted. Will be continuous. R&R my darlings!_


	2. (Information)

**10-43:**

The rest of the day was a blur to Jim. He _had_ woken up from his nap and he _had_ made it to his station, but it didn't really matter since he had slept till 6 in the afternoon and the station was closed anyway. After that, he'd trained a little more, read over the files Pike had sent him 10 to 20 more times, and simply sat quietly in the middle of the empty compound.

The information he was given (finally) settled into his mind and his head pounded for a good part of the night. It wasn't till his alarm rang that Jim realized he hadn't gone to sleep.

Changing out of his used clothes, Jim walked out of his room wearing his standard black short sleeved, black cargo pants, and combat boots. "Lights to 85%," Jim said as he stepped though the main hall. The large screen that he had pulled down earlier was still sitting black and lifeless on the wall, all ready for the video conference with the Ambassador.

For some reason, Jim had gotten it into his head that the Vulcan would appreciate his "natural charm" and had made up his mind not to talk during the whole ordeal. It wasn't like Jim was self-conscience or anything, in fact, he had enough confidence to go around, but he'd also never met an Ambassador before. It was intimidating.

Walking over to the side of the room, Jim typed in his access code into the main power grid. He knew Pike liked it when the compound was bright, and a couple of lights on here and there would probably not cut it as bright. Pressing his thumb into the grid's center button, Jim listened to the whine of gears rubbing together and suddenly the whole place lit up.

Jim nodded and locked the grid back up.

Slipping out of the room, Jim strolled down the compound with his hands buried in his pockets. His head was still stuffed to the brim but at least the throbbing had stopped. Now, his mind buzzed and whirled around the nearly endless amount of questions in his head: _Are we going to have enough time to go over the walkthroughs? Yeah, of course we will…Who will be piloting? What if we crash? Shit, what if we get caught? I've heard Romulans don't take prisoners…What if…_

Jim groaned. He normally didn't over-think things. Truthfully, he never _thought_ about anything, he just went out and _did_ it; Jim could still hear his mother's voice in his head telling him to "Stop and think." It was a shitty memory of the woman, but most of his memories were.

A sharp clicking sound from the overhead speakers made Jim stop in his tracks. "_Shuttle 66936602 approaching. Docking Station 22 doors to begin opening in 3.3 minutes,_" a metallic voice echoed through the compound.

Jim's eyes widened. Fumbling with his comm., he called for a feed with the oncoming shuttle. "66936602, this is Alpha. Respond."

He waited then his comm. buzzed in his hand. "Alpha, this is shuttle 66936602. Transporting six persons to your area. Permission to board?" a tired voice spoke.

Jim scrunched up his face. _Six?_ he thought. He hadn't known Pike called back nearly a quarter of Alpha back. "Ah, permission granted. Docking Station 22 ready for you." Jim flipped his comm. shut before the pilot could say anything more.

Sighing, Jim jogged down the remainder of the hall and hurried through the doorway to the docking stations. He edged carefully past the scanners, disarming them with his access code, and slipped onto a low walkway. At the end of the stretch was a drop-off that led down into the viewing area of Docking Station 10, twelve up from 22. Normally the opening was guarded by even more scanners and some FSOCs to guard those. It had been high priority around the compound to keep foreign objects from slipping in since two years previous, the compound housing Theta Team somehow managed to allow an Orion bacterium aboard and every FSOC on the team got genital warts.

That still caused a good laugh around the command.

"_Shuttle 66936602_ _approaching. Docking Station 22 doors to begin opening in 1.4 minutes. Now locking docking platform entryways. All workers remain twenty feet from docking platform,_" the robotic voice called again, this time followed by a rattle that caused Jim to brace himself against the viewing room's railing.

The clear sliding doors on either side on the room slowly inched together, connecting with a loud _Chu—unk._

"_Entryways locked. Shuttle 66936602 approaching. Docking Station 22 doors to begin opening in 17 seconds. 16. 15. 14. 13…_"

Leaning away from the railing, Jim listened intently to the countdown, never looking away from the station's doors.

_4._

_3._

_2._

_1._

The large metal doors across from Jim let out a _shh—shee _and began to creak apart. Towering from floor to ceiling, the doors soon spread far enough to create a large opening out into the darkness beyond it. Jim craned his neck forward as the black of space devoured his sight entirely.

Their relationship had always been that way; space, so open and full of the _unthinkable_, presenting itself to him with no remorse or shame while all Jim could do was stare until his eyes watered.

He blinked as the view of space was blocked out by the bulky shape of a Federation shuttle craft, its rotund body just barley passing through the doors. It moved painstakingly slow, gradually lowering eight sets of thick legs to rest on the floor and prop itself up. There was a _hiss_ and orange clamps rose up from the floor and stapled around the legs on the shuttle, holding it.

"_Shuttle secure. Now closing station doors._"

Jim felt like pressing his hand up against the glass, as if that would keep the doors from taking off the dark away from him. Instead, he stood back and watched as the black void was slowly shield by two slabs of heavy metal. "_Doors now closed. Oxygen levels at 21%...43%...77%...99%. 100%. Entryways to open—_"

Jim stepped back slightly as the entryway to the station slid to the side abruptly. Taking a breath, Jim walked forward into the room. It smelled sterile and white and he felt somewhat out of place in his grungy attire. He strolled to the side of the shuttle in a few steps, making sure to stand behind the bright yellow line that was painted across the floor. Barely a second passed by when the side-door of the shuttle jolted and flapped open , its automatic catch stopping it from crashing to the ground completely. A set of stairs unfolded from the metal paneling of the door and gently lowered to the floor.

The sound of seats groaning and feet shuffling and voices talking came from the inside of the shuttle. Jim braced himself for the onslaught.

"Jesus my back hurts!"

"Anybody got food? I'm starving. And not any of those shitty-ass bars. The stuff goes right through me."

"Hey! Where the fuck's my bag!?"

"Brent's got it."

"The shit you doin' with my bag?"

"Oh, this is your bag? I thought it was Angela's."

A string of curse words and laughter hit Jim's ears like a hammer. He watched as the group untangled themselves from different bags and coats. One of them broke away from the group and jogged towards Jim.

"Hello, Lieutenant," Sulu smiled, placing the side on his fingers perfectly along his temple in a salute.

Jim mirrored the salute and both men dropped their arms. "Yeah, hey." Jim nodded over to the others. "What's with the surprise party, eh? I thought ya'll were coming separately."

Sulu scratched at the back of his hand. "We all met up at the same docking station. No one really went far for leave this time."

Jim nodded then sniffed. "Shut them up before I shoot all of you back into space."

Sulu's smiled stretched slightly. He turned his head and barked, "_Attention!_"

Five head swiveled over to look at the two lieutenants. Almost in unison, the group separated and lined up shoulder to shoulder. The first in the line raised his hand to his head, giving a salute, followed by the others. Jim let his eyes roam across each face in the line.

Pike _had_ pulled back all the hard workers: Finney, Brent, Lemli, Farrell, and the only woman in Alpha, Angela Martine. They were all smartasses, yeah, but they got the job done. Simple as that.

Jim stepped forward slightly, letting his shoulder pass Sulu's. He gave the same salute to the lineup and they all lowered their arms. "Hello, Alpha. How was your leave?" A smile tugged at his mouth when his team let out groans. "Alright, shut up."

Before he could say anything more, a thin faced Farrell stuck up his hand sharply in the air. Jim nodded at him. "Is Captain Pike not meeting us? In the comm. he sent out, he said he'd be meeting us."

Jim wiped at his nose. Farrell had always been one to get to the point — he once told Jim that "small talk" made him nauseous. "Yes, Captain Pike will join us shortly. Any _other_ questions you have," he glanced at Farrell, "will be answered by him, 'kay? Now until then, I want all of you in Station 4."

Without hesitation, the group hiked up their bags and began walking out of the station. Jim watched them then walked over to the shuttle and banged on its side. The pilot looked out of the side window. "How long you stayin'?" Jim yelled up at him.

"Not more than an hour," the pilot yelled back. "Gotta wait while the engines start up."

Jim nodded and pushed away from the shuttle. He began to walk away when the pilot called after him. "Hey."

"Yeah?" Jim stopped and tilted his head to the shuttle.

The pilot fingered his chin. "You George Kirk's kid?"

Jim froze. He felt his nails slowly dig into his palms as his hands clenched at his side. No, he thought. "Yeah," Jim called over his shoulder. I'm not good enough to be _his_ kid— "He was my dad."

The pilot nodded his head gravely. "Met him once. Good guy. I was on the _USS Titan_ when the _Kelvin_ went down. Shitty what happened."

Jim felt his lips twist into a lopsided and very forced smile. _What happened_… Jim sniffed and shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah. It was." He waved back at the pilot and walked quickly out of the station before he could ask any more questions, doors automatically locking tightly behind him.

Walking down to Station 4, Jim allowed himself to lean his back against one of the walls of the corridors. He stared at the floor while waiting for his heart to stop pounding. George Kirk— the name made Jim want to puke.

"_You shouldn't be afraid, James." _

Jim could hear his father's voice in the back on his mind. The morning _it_ happened Jim had called him. He didn't know why he had (back then and even now) but he had. He'd told his father that he wanted him to come home, that he was scared.

His father had laughed and said he shouldn't be afraid because—

"_There's nothing out here but stars."_

Taking in a shaky breath, Jim straightened and began walking again. He didn't need to add the shit that happened _sixteen years_ ago to his troubles right then. He let it go, like he always did. Because that's what _he_ would have wanted him to do.

When he reached Station 4, Jim stopped near the doors. He hovered there, craning his neck and looking in. His teammates had taken their seats around the long black table that occupied the middle of the station. Finney had his boots propped up while leaning against Lemli, both examining the fresh tattoo that ran up Finney's forearm. Farrell sat with his arms crossed as Brent tried to talk to him and Sulu and Martine sat together in conversation, Martine glancing down at the locket hanging from her neck from time to time. Jim knew it held the picture of her fiancé, a young Federation worker named Tomlinson.

Jim felt his heart clench for a moment. He didn't want them to know about the mission. He wanted to keep them safe (and in a strange way, innocent, if that made any sense.) Jim shook his head, banishing the thought. They knew from the beginning, he thought. They knew what this job would throw at them.

Jim furrowed his brow and turning on his heels, walked away from the station.

"Access: 51152-45196," a metallic voice greeted Jim as he strode into the transporter room. He stopped in front of the beaming platform with his hands on his hips.

Pike wasn't supposed to beam aboard for another thirty minutes or so, but Jim didn't want to be with his team. Well, he did, but at the same time he couldn't bear to be in the same room as them. He was never good at holding back his "emotions"— or whatever the hell was boiling under his skin—everyone knew that, so he found it safer for him to just _stay away_ till his captain showed.

Jim adjusted his feet and stared into the glass plates that encased the transporting platform. He felt like doing…something. Crying, maybe, but that was never going to happen. He hadn't cried in years and he wasn't going to start any time soon.

Besides, there was nothing to cry about.

_0-0-0_

When Pike beamed aboard, Jim was still standing were he'd been. Pike stopped mid-step and jerked back as he came face to face with his first. "Christ, Kirk," Pike grumbled, shoving Jim a pace or two back. "A little too close for comfort, eh?"

Jim blinked out of his daze and raised his chin, embarrassment flooding his stomach. "Sorry," he said stepping further away as Pike walked out of the transporter. His captain looked better than when they last talked, like he'd managed to sleep some. Lucky bastard, Jim thought.

"All here?" Pike asked as he walked out into the compound's hallway.

Jim jogged after the captain till they were shoulder to shoulder. "Yeah. They're waiting in Station 4." He refrained from asking why the mission needed seven (including himself and Pike) FSOCs appointed to it as Pike sniffed and pulled out a PADD from his small travel bag.

"Good," he said. He slipped the PADD into Jim's hands. "And what about you? You here?"

Jim blinked at the statement before nodding. "Yes, sir…" He looked down at the PADD in his hands and tapped it. A column of small-text popped up. Jim tried to read the page as he continued to walk down the corridor, mind grappling over words such as "full disclosure" and "restricted placement." At the bottom of the screen there was a blank line and the words SIGNED CONSENT. Jim shook his head as his eyes traveled over the UFP insignia that was printed at the end of the text. "What is this?"

"Federation paperwork," Pike nearly spat. He came to a stop as they reached the main room of the compound. He turned and tapped on the PADD, enlarging the line at the bottom. "Type you recognition number here."

Jim frowned and shook his head. "Wait. What's with this all of a sudden? UFP's never given us shitwork to fill out before."

Pike scratched at an eyebrow, his eyes shutting slightly. "We've never work this close with UFP before either. They love their formalities, I can tell you that. I filled out an entire packet last night that forbids me from putting this mission into FSOC records."

"Wait a second," Jim said again, his eyes roaming over the text again. He felt his stomach clench with anger. "This says we'll be under _CODE 3-357_! That's un-sponsored missions! So what, is UFP not sponsoring this anymore?!"

"Jim." Pike's voice came out solid and even. He swiped at the PADD again, the end of the page shooting up the screen. "Federation _is_ sponsoring, but in all the documents it will say CODE 3-357."

"So, they're trying to hide this mission? Heh—okay. Are we getting credits?" Jim asked.

Pike hesitated. "No. CODE 3-357s aren't allowed to be connected to deposits."

"But it's _not_ a CODE 3-357," Jim bristled. UFP was screwing them over big time. No credits for a mission that could kill them and no transfer of accomplishment to the records when it was all over. Fuckers, he thought. "So we _are _sponsored and UFP will just file this mission down under a pile of false information _without_ giving us credits? What the fuck Chris?"

"This is a tricky, tricky stunt we're about pull here, Kirk. Sometimes everything needs to turn to shit before you can do something like this. We're heading into a war zone with limited knowledge and two pickups that I'm not willing to leave behind just because we're not _getting credits_." Jim felt his shoulders slump as Pike edged close to his face. The older man tapped on the PADD. "Now sign it," he hissed.

Jim blinked a few times, the image of the Ambassador's son flashing in his head. Yeah, credits don't matter, he thought. Spock matters. Saving Spock. Saving Amanda. Getting them home. That matters—

With a nod, Jim typed in his rec. number and pressed enter. The screen flashed: _#51152-45196…Kirk, James T._ The screen blinked white then the page was gone. Jim looked up at his captain and held the PADD out between them.

Pike took the PADD without missing a beat. "Alright then." He shoved the PADD into the pack and brushed by Jim's arm as he continued to walk.

Jim glared down at the ground for a moment before following with a heavy sigh.

Leading the way, Pike reached Station 4 before Jim could catch up. He marched into the small room without hesitation causing all the members of Alpha to jump in their seats. Jim watched from the doorway as his teammates all leaped from their seats to stand in salute and as Finney actually toppled out of his chair and onto the floor.

Scurrying to his feet, Finney stood at attention. "Captain," he said staunchly. Jim refrained from rolling his eyes.

Pike mirrored the salute. He sat his bag down next to the chair at the front of the table and sat. The others followed in taking their seats leaving Jim the only one standing. He caught the quick glance Pike threw at him and slowly walked into the room. He took up his seat to the right of Pike and across from Sulu who gave him a look.

"Hello Alpha," Pike said, folding his hands together on the tabletop. He looked from each face before starting. "I appreciate you all cutting your leaves short. Now, we need to discuss a new mission that we've been assigned."

Jim felt his body slide lower in his seat. He looked around and watched his teammates nod at Pike's words. He looked forward only to catch Sulu's eyes. The second was looking at him with cautious eyes, almost as if to ask if he was right about their conversation the other day. Jim shook his head at him then turned his attention to his captain.

Pike swiveled in his chair and told the room's lights to fade to 2%. They did and the room was suddenly pitch black. "Projector, pull file 80," Pike commanded the compound. There was a click and then a square beam of light was projected onto the blank wall behind Jim's head. He turned, along with the others, to look.

"First slide," Pike ordered. On the wall, the picture of the map and coordinates Jim saw the previous day in his room popped up. "This is the south side of the city ShiKahr," Pike said, sitting back into his chair and tapping a finger on his armrest. "As most of you know, ShiKahr is the city on Vulcan. It is also one of the first cities affected by Cloud 9. I'm sorry to say, but this is our mission's landing zone."

Jims eyes clamped shut as Pike's words made his stomach clench. At this, the air in the room darkened till it hung heavy and low. Jim risked glancing around. Sulu sat with his jaw set and nodded his head up and down—_Itoldyou Itoldyou Itoldyou _pouring off of him in waves; Finney sat with his mouth open and his eyes distant; Martine, Brent, and Lamli all mouthed a "What?" while Farrell stayed the same.

Jim pushed down the bile that stuffed up his throat and looked away as Pike kept talking.

"This area of the city has been bombed by Cloud 9, meaning masks will be required during the course of this mission," Pike told the projector to slide and a picture of a gas mask replaced the map. It was a normal UFP issued mask with a long glass cover and straps that clamped around your head. A square pack with black tubes connected to the mask was picture to the side of the image.

Pike moved to the net slide. The map blinked back onto the wall, this time accompanied by a column of numbers and degrees. The picture automatically zoomed in on the map and suddenly little virtual buildings grew from the flat image. The picture zoomed into a rather tall building surrounded by a curved wall. "This is the pick-up area. UFP drones managed to locate and pin our pick-ups at these coordinates." Pike gestured to the numbers by the edge of the picture.

The next slide came up and Amanda Grayson and Spock's faces filled the wall. Jim felt his chest tighten. Pike nodded at the slide, "This is Lady Amanda Grayson and her son, Spock. They are the wife and child of the Vulcan Ambassador, Sarek. These are our pick-ups."

Jim stared forward at the picture of Spock as Pike continued to talk. Those _human_ eyes stared back at him. For some reason, Jim felt slightly calmer seeing the kid's face. He made him determine, because he knew if he wasn't, those eyes might close and never open again and Jim couldn't take that. Suddenly, the picture of the young Vulcan vanished and the room's lights blared on.

Jim blinked and slowly turned back around in his seat. He eyed his captain. The rest of Alpha turned as well. Now with the light, Jim could see just how everyone took the news. Pale faces stared at the tabletop without blinking.

"UFP has arranged for us to beam aboard the _USS Ulysses _tomorrow at 0500. The ship will take us just outside Vulcan's orbit then we'll ride a rotorcraft in," Pike said standing from his seat. He tapped his fingers on the table. "The pick-up area has been "cleared" by the drones, but that could change without warning."

Pike paused to make sure everyone was paying attention. He pointed a finger at Sulu causing him to flinch. "Sulu, you and Martine will be piloting. I want you to look over the pathways to the area tonight. Memorize them." He turned his stare to Finney, Lamli, Brent, and Farrell. "You four will be on watch. Finney and Lamli'll take the sides, Farrell you'll take the rear. Brent front."

Jim clenched his jaw as Pike turned to him. "Kirk, you and I will drop down. The rotorcraft will not land on Vulcan. We will use extensions and preform lifts," Pike said. "It will just be us on the ground." He looked from Jim to the rest of the room. "I want to be in and out of that God damned place before anyone knows about, alright."

The room stayed silent.

"_Alright?_" Pike's voice bounced off the walls.

A collective, "Yes, sir!" shot through the air, making Jim cringe. He watched Pike nod and pick his pack off the table. "I sent you all files on the mission. Read them, _all_," he said. He glanced at Jim briefly before flicking his pointer and middle finger, gesturing for him to follow. "Get to it Alpha."

Pike left and Jim stood up. He looked down at his seated team and swallowed. They all had their heads down and hands folded. Sulu was the only one to look back at him, but even then his look was far off and strange. Jim knew they were scared, but he also knew they would never admit to it—they were stronger than that—and as long as he was brave they would be brave. That was his job as first, to keep his team's heads up.

"It's just another mission," he said before walking out of the station, though they all knew he was lying.

_0-0-0_

Jim walked into the main hall and stopped. Pike was seated in front of the holoscreen that he had set up that morning with his legs crossed. He barely glanced at Jim as he walked in—he was too busy greeting a very stern looking Vulcan across the screen.

"It's very nice to meet you, Ambassador Sarek," Pike said, sparing a moment to gesture for Jim to sit in the empty chair next to him. "My name is Captain Christopher Pike and this is my first, Lieutenant James Kirk."

The Vulcan on the screen let his dark eyes scan over them both. "Greetings, Captain Pike. Lieutenant Kirk." He nodded at both of them, his dull, lulling voice filling the room and sending a shiver down Jim's spine.

Jim had been right; the Ambassador was an intimidating man. He was broad, with square shoulders and a large chest, yet his ego seemed small and tamed. Black cropped hair sat neatly atop a (what Jim guessed) leveled head, not a single strand out of place. His eyes were like his son's, dark and strict and full of depth, yet they weren't human. Purely Vulcan.

Purely alien.

Pike adjusted his shoulders to rest more comfortably against his seat. "Hopefully UFP has walked you through the plans for tomorrow pertaining the rescue of your wife and son, Ambassador."

Jim's ears pricked as the Ambassador's voice hummed out of the holoscreen's speakers. "They have. I wish to express my thanks to all of your team, Captain, for accepting this mission."

Like we could refuse, Jim thought. "No thanks are necessary. Alpha Team is here to assist where and when needed," Pike said. He turned slightly and pulled out of his pack the PADD from earlier.

Jim watched absently as his captain tapped on it the PADD. He let his eyes cautiously look up to the screen in front of him. The Ambassador stared back at him unblinking. Jim fought the urge to blanch and looked away. "Now, before we move on to the details," Pike continued, "I would like to hear what happened on the last day you saw your family."

The Ambassador looked thoughtful for a moment. "Of course. Approximately eight days ago I was requested to observe a hearing being held in Vulcan Regard. My wife and son remained at our home in ShiKahr, as the hearing was only to last a part of a day. However, the hearing abruptly ended near midafternoon, as I and my fellow members of the council were forced to evacuate from Vulcan."

"You say "midafternoon," can you give me an estimated time?" Pike asked, typing on the PADD.

"I can give you an _exact_ time, Captain," the Ambassador replied. "1429 hours."

"It stated that Romulan forces attack at 1600 hours," Pike said, typing some more. "Am I correct in saying that you, and some others, evacuated Vulcan nearly an hour and a half before the initial attack?"

"You are," the Ambassador nodded.

At this, Jim frowned. _Two and a half hours—_

"Why did you and your colleagues opt to leave before the attack even began?" Pike asked, not looking away from his PADD.

Jim looked up at the holoscreen when the Ambassador paused. He watched the Vulcan's eyes glance briefly downwards. "Members of the council were informed by an anonymous communication dispatch of the Romulan attack at 1400 hours. At 1429 hours, we evacuated Vulcan, as I have said already."

"An "anonymous communication dispatch?" You're saying someone gave you a heads up?" Pike stopped typing and looked up at the Ambassador, eyebrows raised.

Jim felt his jaw drop slightly as the Vulcan nodded. "Precisely."

_He left them…_

"Was this dispatch only sent to your location in Vulcan Regard?"

_He fucking left them… He left Spock…_

"To my knowledge, it was."

"You just left them there?"

The room went silent. Pike wiped his head around to stare at Jim and the Ambassador sat motionless. Jim looked at both of them before settling his glare on the Vulcan. His hands shook as he swallowed. "You left them," he repeated.

The Ambassador merely blinked. "I do not understand you statement, Lieutenant."

The veins in Jim's neck throbbed. "You knew, but you left them." By then, Jim couldn't register what was coming out of his mouth. The picture of Spock and Amanda Grayson burned behind his eyes. His mind was a mess. "You fucking left your wife and kid on that planet and you _knew._"

"_Jim._" Pike was staring at him with wide eyes.

"I did. The evacuation was unexpected and I did not possess adequate time to return and prepare my family," the Ambassador said evenly, making the fire in Jim's stomach burn hotter.

"You had two hours! That's not enough time?!" Jim shouted, gripping his chair's armrests.

"Two hours that were needed to board transportation out of Vulcan air space, Lieutenant," the Ambassador replied.

"And you did this without even trying to get to your family?!"

"_Kirk,_" Pike hissed, leaning into Jim's side and baring his teeth. "_Leave!_"

The Ambassador eyed the two FSOCs, a flash of _something_ darting across his brown irises. "Your emotional outburst is unnecessary, Lieutenant," he directed at Jim. "I am fully aware that my wife and son are still on Vulcan and that the circumstances stated forced me to leave them there. You do not need to inform me on this matter further."

Jim glared up at the screen yet felt his chest deflate.

"You need to leave, Lieutenant," Pike growled, holding up a hand to any of the objections Jim could come up with. "Now."

This time, Jim listened and jerked from his seat. He stood in front of the Ambassador's stonewall gaze with his jaw clenched. He glanced at Pike before nodding and striding out of the room.

_Bam—Bam—Bam._

Jim's heartbeat rang in his ears as he sped down the hallway. Fire still licked its way up and down his insides, tearing his stomach apart. He reached his room and jabbed in his code. His door _swished_ open and Jim stomped in.

He fled to his bathroom. "Water on," he instructed his sink hoarsely and watched as a stream of freezing water drained out of the faucet. He dipped his hands under the water then slapped them to his face. Jim let his face hang and the water drip.

"Fuck," he coughed and wiped a shaky hand over his forehead. He'd never _lost it_ like that before. He hadn't felt that emotional since _then_—

"_You shouldn't be afraid, James." _

He wasn't afraid. He was angry. Angry that that poor kid was stuck in the middle of some idiotic pissing fight and that he'd lost his cool and that Pike would probably demote him the first chance he got and that his _fucking head was on fire_.

"_You shouldn't be afraid..." _

Jim breathed in and out through his nose. He punched his fists into the sides of the sink he leaned over, metal connecting with skin, knuckles bruising. He could see Spock's face every time he blinked, and the pale, shaken faces of his team. They were all depending on him.

"…_James…"_

_Beep_.

Jim blinked and looked around before ripping his comm. out of his pocket. He flipped it open and held it timidly up to his ear.

"Pull another hissy fit like that, Kirk, and I'll send you right back into the fishing pool before you can take your head out of your ass," Pike's voice flooded Jim's ear. "You got that, Lieutenant?"

Jim felt his head spin. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

Pike scoffed, "That don't cut, Jim. You get yourself into this or I will drop you."

Jim nodded and closed his eyes. "Yes. I understand."

There was a pause. "Luckily, the Ambassador did as well. He asked me to tell you that he hopes you feel better."

How fuckin' sweet, Jim thought but shook his head. "That won't happen again, Chris, I swear."

Another pause then Pike's voice came out distant, "It better not—"

Jim's comm. beeped again and the call ended. Jim flipped the comm. shut and slid it away across the counter. He instructed the water off and stepped away from the sink. He sat on his the rim around his shower.

He wasn't ready, he could feel it. Tomorrow would take him by storm. He was finally snapping under it all—the years of missions, years of death and sleepless nights wrapped around a beer can.

"_You shouldn't…"_

Jim let his ass slide off its seat and connect with the tiled floor. He curled up and placed his head in the barriers of his arms. He figure sleeping on the floor would do as much for him as sleeping in his bed.

"…_be afraid, James." _

* * *

**Chapter 2! R&R is lovely!**


	3. (Beginning Tour of Duty)

10-41:

When Alpha beamed aboard the USS Ulysses, Jim nearly gagged at how sterile everything smelled. Lights blared overhead and bounced off of the chrome lining that surrounded the room. It all looked polished and cleaned and high-tech and _foreign_.

His team was crowded around him, all standing out like sore thumbs — their dark, worn-out combat gear popping out against the posh white atmosphere of the ship. They peered out from behind Jim's shoulders and out into the ship's room, eyes betrayed the awe they all were trying to suppress. It was really like stepping into a dream, all white and shining, but Jim would never admit that he was impressed.

Jim waited till _all_ of his captain had energized next to him, the yellow sparks slowly fading away from around Pike's head as they finished piecing him back together. He watched as Pike blinked and turned his gaze towards him. He nodded and stepped off the platform.

They had made a mental agreement not to talk about Jim's break down the previous day. It was too _unprofessional_ and too fucking degrading to bring up, so they left it alone. Jim turned to his team and flipped his pointer and middle finger forward before stepping off the platform as well. His team followed without a sound.

Pike lead them forward to a pair of large, silver doors. He stopped and Jim shot his hand up for the rest to halt. He watched as the doors opened in front of Pike, revealing the large main deck that sat behind it.

Jim shook his head as a sea of blue and red and gold assaulted his eyes. Officers bustled about, in and out of _swishing_ doors. _Clicks_ and _beeps_ and _voices_ all mingled in with the antiseptic air causing Jim's migraine to flare. No one seemed to notice them till Pike called out above the crowd, "Permission to come aboard?"

At this, the room stilled. The killer noise of the place had dropped so low that now a pin could drop on Level 5 and Jim could've heard it. Jim shifted his shoulders uncomfortably and glanced to his side. A group of crewmen were there staring at him. He managed his best scowl and looked away.

In the middle of the mob was a pale looking woman sitting with her legs crossed in the commander's chair. She turned slightly and looked over at them, her completely black eyes zoning in on them like a hawk. She stood and walked over to Pike with her hand out. "Permission granted, Captain Pike," she said through a row of sharp teeth.

Pike took the woman's hand and nodded. "Thank you, Captain. We're honored to be on your ship."

The Captain smiled tightly and dropped Pike's hand. She let her gaze flick over to Jim's for a moment. "I'm glad to see you and your team made it here without any trouble. I got report that some ships this close to Vulcan have been getting interference from the Romulans."

"All good, Captain," Pike smirked.

The Captain dipped her head, her black eyes barely registering the small smile on her lips. "Good, good. I have informed my crew of your presence on the ship, so you should have no trouble with prying eyes." The Captain shot a quick glance over her shoulder causing a cluster of crewmen to scatter like rats. "The rotorcraft that has been assigned for your mission is being held in Dock-16. If your team would please follow my first officer, he will show them to the changing bay while you and I finish out some paperwork."

Almost instantly, a large body moved in next to the woman. He stared down at Jim with blank eyes. "If you and your team would follow me, Lieutenant," the First Officer said voice brisk and official.

Jim bristled. He looked a Pike.

Pike flicked his chin towards the direction the First Officer was standing before walking off with the Captain, leaving Jim in charge.

Sighing, Jim nodded and watched as the First Officer spun of his heel and marched towards the exit door of the deck. He and the rest of Alpha tagged along and slipped out the automatic doors and into a narrow passageway.

"We have acquired pressurized mobility suits for your mission, Lieutenant. Standardized Federation masks have also been secured," the First Officer said as they walked through the passageway and into a room connected to a metal stairway. The First Officer climbed the steps in a few bounds. He stopped when he reached the top, waiting for Jim and the others to catch up.

He pointed out to his side. "These doors here will lead you into the changing bay."

Jim jumped up onto the stairs top step and craned his neck past the wall that hid the doorway from sight. He nodded. "Thank you." He turned to his team and gestured his head. Sulu was the first to brush past him then Martine and the rest.

He thanked the First Officer and watched him descend the stairs, his hulking body stalking down the steps and back into the tight walkway. "Pompous asshole," Jim muttered.

Walking into the changing bay, Jim stopped to take everything in. his team was lined up along the far wall, undressing and slipping their limbs into body fitting red suits. Martine was off to the side behind a screen, maintaining her decency as she took off her bra.

"Here, Jim."

Jim blinked and looked over at Sulu, already dressed, with a suit draped over his outstretched arm. "This one's yours."

Jim nodded and took the suit. He unfolded it and held it out in front of him. "Not much of a fashion statement," he heard Martine say as she walked out from behind the screen.

Finney whistled from his spot by the wall. "Looks good on you though. And I don't know, my ass looks pretty good in this."

"Yeah right," Lamli laughed as he tripped while sliding his bare leg through the suits hole.

Jim smirked and rolled his shirt up over his head. The clean air brushed across his exposed stomach, making him shiver. He dropped his pants and briefs around his ankles and stepped out of them, throwing all of his clothes into a vacuum-bag hanging on the wall. He slid his legs through the opening of the suit; the insulated rubber sliding over his skin and tightening around his thighs. Jim yanked the suit over his shoulders and stretched out the collar.

"Tight, huh?" Jim muttered, adjusting his balls.

"Only gets worse," Brent said coming up to Jim with a long hose. He moved Jim's arm so he could get at the small clamp along his side. He attached the hose and clicked a switch on the nozzle.

Jim jumped as his suit squeezed around his skin with a _hiss_. "Jesus."

"A precaution," Farrell remarked from across the room. "That Cloud 9 gas may or may _not_ cause burns on the skin. Pressurized, these suits should keep that from happening. Also, the temperature of Vulcan is much higher than we'll be accustomed to. The suits breathe well."

Jim gave Farrell a look. "Well, glad for these then."

Sitting down on one of the white benches in the room, Jim propped one foot up on his knee and began to pull his boots on. Four metal clamps secured themselves around his calf when the boot was fully on. He spared a glance at his watch— it read 0540. They were still on time. By 0630, they would be on Vulcan.

Jim finished putting on his boots and went to slide on his gloves.

"We really have to wear these," Finney asked, holding up a chest guard with the UFP insignia and motto stamped into the foam. "We ain't no fuckin' fed-dogs."

"Tough shit," Sulu snorted, snapping on his own chest guard.

Martine let her small frame sit down next to Jim's. Her shoulder brushed against his as she slid on her boots. "I'm nervous, sir," she said after a moment, voice barely above a whisper.

A knot grew in Jim's chest. He flashed the woman a look then fiddled with his gloves. He wasn't good at comforting others, not even back then, when his mother needed someone there for her—

"Don't," Jim heard himself say. He turned till his knees bumped Martine's. She looked over at him. Jim forced a smile. "Don't worry."

Martine searched Jim's face before smiling herself. "Thank you, sir."

Jim nodded then stood up, subconsciously wanting to flee the room, but settled for putting a few feet between him and the woman. He picked a chest plate out from a holder on the wall. He slipped it on and snapped its belts across his chest and middle.

He looked around. "Where…" Jim stopped when he saw the row of large, boxy gas masks hanging across the wall on the far side of the room.

Jim walked over to the masks and slipped one off its hook. It was heavy, but not by much. The square oxygen tank the mask was connected to slid closer to his feet, its bottom screeching across the white floor. Hoisting the tank up, Jim pulled the straps that hung limply at its side over his shoulders. The weight of the tank made his back pop.

He placed his hands on either side of the mask and lowered the glass dome down around his head. His breath fogged the glass immediately. Jim locked the clamps that stuck up around the collar of the mask and a ring of metal tightened around the base of his throat.

Twisting, Jim reached around and turned on the tank. There was a click then a blast of air covered Jim's face. His hair ruffled for a moment then sat lifelessly under the helmet. Jim took in a deep breath then let it out, the visor fogging again. He blinked at the faint reflection of himself the visor caught. His face looked distorted and broken.

Turning stiffly, Jim looked across the room at his team, his breath fogging up his view of their faces.

_0-0-0_

Jim led Alpha out into Dock-16 when they were all dressed and ready. Pike and the rotorcraft were waiting for them.

"Kirk," Pike nodded, his movement obstructed by the gas mask on his head. His outfit was a mirror of his own. In his hand, pike held seven comm. devices. He held his hand out. "These are lined comms. They'll only work between us eight and the _Ulysses_. Handy things."

Jim walked forward and took the comms. He passed them out amongst the rest of the team. "So they're monitoring us, now?" he grumbled as he latched the comm. onto his left shoulder guard.

Pike gave his 1st an exasperated look. "It's not important. All they'd do with the information is write it up in a report. That's all they're good for."

"Did they hear you just now?" Jim asked, watching Pike as he glanced down at his comm. and shrugged, a smirk lining his lips.

Pike turned and walked towards the rotorcraft. The carrier was small (by Federation standards) and looked misplaced amongst the glitter and the ship's pristine technology. Its outer panels were dark and chipping and its landing gear looked a little worse for wear. The propellers that flanked the side of the craft looked newly installed, which eased Jim's suppressed worries about faulty flying. Pike tapped on the craft's side and two panels parted from each other.

Taking a leather strap in his hand, pike pulled himself onto the rotorcraft with a grunt. He turned and looked down at his team with his hands on his hips. "Let's get going, Alpha." He looked down at the touch-watch on his suit. "Are window's coming up."

Jim nodded for Sulu and the others to pass him. They did and climbed aboard the craft one by one. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim spotted a cluster of people hanging by the viewing windows on the dock, all looking in on their tip toes. Jim frowned in annoyance as he read one crewman's lips through the glass:

_Kirk's kid—_

Turning away, Jim brushed the image out of his head. he wasn't going through that again. Two days in a row of bitchin' about dear ol' dad was far too many for his taste.

"_Doc-16's doors to open in 5 minutes,_" a metallic voice similar to the one at the compound called from overhead.

Jim sniffed and made his way over to the craft. He yanked the leather strap into his hand and _pulled_ his weight up until his foot caught with the grooved flooring of the craft. Jim leaned in and felt the panels behind him shut.

Inside, the craft was tinier than expected. Martine and Sulu sat nearly shoulder to shoulder in their piloting chair, both flicking switches and testing dials. Finney, Lamli, Farrell, and Brent crowded around each other, observing the long-range rifle cannons that they would be standing behind during the mission. Pike stood in the middle of the carrier typing away on a holoscreen.

"That side," pike instructed Jim as he approached him. Jim took up the other side of the holoscreen. He watched pike through the green pixels slide and adjust numbers and graphics. "Nervous, kirk?" he asked, twisting a set of numbers with his fingers and sending them to the screen that sat in from of Sulu.

Jim's brow furrowed. "Never," he said, taking a finger and dragging a file over to his side of the screen. He opened it and the 3-D image of the pick-up area filled his screen.

"_Dock-16's door to open in 2.2 minutes,_" Jim heard the muffled announcement from outside the craft.

"All right, buckle up," Pike shouted. He pulled a large strap down from the craft's ceiling and hooked it to his belt. He tugged it.

Jim did the same. He looked over his shoulder and watched the spotters clamp their feet into the divots in front of their guns. The craft whirred and shook when Sulu started up the engines. "Engines up, Captain."

Pike nodded, "Good."

Jim looked over at Finney, who had pulled out his cross to kiss and then at Farrell who had his eyes shut. He never understood praying, maybe it had to do with believing in science too much; there was no room for a god.

From out the front windows Jim could see the room start to slowly spin. They were soon pointed at the dock's doors, ready to zip out into the darkness.

"_Dock-16 closed. All personnel stand away from the red line. Doors to open in 10…9…8…7…_"

Jim swallowed as he watched the large, white door's in front of the craft creak open. It was there, space, inviting him out with open arms. Jim could see the darkness, specked with white and gold.

"…_nothing out here but stars…"_

The rotorcraft's engines roared as both Sulu and Martine pushed down on their thrusters. The craft inched forward one jittery step before shooting out, breaking through the gap into space before the doors finished fully opening. Jim's knuckles turned white as he gripped his line, locking his knees in hopes of not falling flat on his ass.

The pressure the jolt created lasted throughout the ship for a moment before there was a slight _pop_ and the speed of the carrier seemed to stop. They were weightless then.

Jim eased his grip. He leaned forward and locked his eyes with the sights outside the front windows. A scattering of white and grey splotches dotted the otherwise pitch black view. As Sulu hit the second thrusters, Jim could see the splotches were ships, hundreds of ships, Federation and Vulcan alike, all crowded close to the curve a massive red planet.

"Thrusters stable. Approaching Vulcan from 44⁰," Martine said, flipping her brown hair away from her face. "We'll break the atmosphere in twelve minutes."

"Looking good, Alpha," Pike said. He tapped on the holoscreen.

Jim nearly jumped as the picture of Spock popped up on his side of the screen. He gave pike a look. His captain arched a brow. "You'll take the kid," he said, gliding his finger across another file. "I'll take Lady Amanda. We'll drop down together but you and the kid's going up first. Got me?"

Jim let pike's words sink in. he glanced at the picture and let a weak smile crawl onto his lips. Pike knew how mush this kid had come to mean to him, even if he had only seen a picture. Spock was his responsibility and mentally thanked his captain for seeing that his safety was at the top of Jim's agenda.

"Approaching atmosphere."

Sulu's voice cut through Jim's thoughts. He glanced away from the picture and out into space. Their craft passed by numerous allied ships without a second though, the red Vulcan planet increasing in size as they got closer and closer.

Jim looked back at Spock's pixelated face and felt his chest lurch.

* * *

_Not that long of a chapter but here it is, chapter 3! Really getting excited about this story! _

_P.S: Spock will **definitely** be in the next chapter (not just his photo ^)_


	4. (Squad in Vicinity)

**10-60:**

Jim gripped his line tighter as the rotorcraft bucked. Through the front window, the dark of space dissolved into a ball of red.

"Atmosphere approaching," Martine called. "Preparing hover-guard."

The ship bounced again as the propellers tipped downward slightly. Jim watched as Vulcan edged closer and closer till it was _there_, just out of reach. He let his eyes slide over to the holoscreen that shook on its router cables, the small image of Spock rocking along with it. Jim let a gloved hand swipe the picture away.

Through the screen, Pike caught his eye. They stared at each other before Pike tapped on the comm. dangling from his shoulder pad and mouthing a "Turn it on." Jim pressed on the small black button on the comm. and his captain's voice came out clear. "Pretty?" he said, nodded his head back at the advancing planet.

Jim found a tense smile. "Pretty _red_," he spoke into the comm.

Pike smirked and ended the conversation with a turn of his head. He and Jim normally had longer talks while heading to missions, but today it felt wrong to talk and break the silence. Jim winced as both of his ears were suddenly clogged and buzzing.

"2.72 kilometers from atmosphere. Steady entrance." Sulu called this time, voice coming through Jim's comm. like a little echo.

"Hover-guard set," Martine added.

Jim sighed deeply before popping his ears. Under his suit, he could feel his heart pounding away. Each bump the ship endured sent tremors up Jim's legs and into his abdomen. A cold sweat had settled between his back and his suit, causing an uncomfortable itch. Jim grimaced. Nerves, he told himself. Fuckin' nerves…

"1.5 kilometers." Sulu's voice hummed into Jim's comm. ".89—.50. Breaching atmosphere,"

With a roar, the craft plowed through the alien planet's atmosphere, a high pitch _skeeee_ following. The metal panels alongside the interior of the craft shifted and rattled and the extension cord that connected Jim to the ceiling swayed violently.

Jim watched through the window as red and grey clouds rushed up to meet them. The craft continued through, turning the heavy clouds into thin wisps with a brush from it bulky frame. For a moment, it was like the clouds had trapped them, binding together to make an endless tunnel of whites and greys and reds. But before Jim could blink, the craft shot through the exit of the haze and hurtled towards the red ground.

By then, the craft's entire front window was stained with a thick layer of crimson dust. Martine pressed a button and two wipers shot over the grime. Jim watched the wipers go back and forth, subconsciously wanting a distraction from the pending moment when the craft would stop rocking and the doors would open and he'd be _exposed_.

"_You shouldn't be afraid…" _

Jim flicked his tongue over his dry lips. I'm not, he thought, desperately wanting to wipe at the sweat that was pooling under his bangs.

Ever.

A small _beep_ sounded from Jim's shoulder. He cocked his head and listened through the glass of his mask. "Alpha, this is the _Ulysses_. You have reached 0.09144 kilometers from the surface of Vulcan." Jim could recognize the stoic voice of the First Officer.

Jim huffed and glanced around. Everyone had their heads cocked in the same manner. "We are sending a dispatch to the pickups 99941-01 and 99941-02 to enter the pick-up area. When your craft reaches 0.01524 kilometers, you will set your rotors to hover. Is this clear?"

"Clear," Pike said into his comm. before canceling the First Officer's call, leaving the comms. dead. "Alright," Pike shouted, looking around the space. "Eyes open. Stay alert. We'll be done before you can say Jack Robinson." Jim watched everyone nod sharply.

Pike turned his gaze to him. "Ready?"

Jim blinked a few times, letting the acidy taste in his mouth die down before nodding, "Yes, sir."

Pike gave him a wrinkled smile.

Sulu snapped into his comm., black hair ruffled under his mask. "Hover-guard set…locked." The craft lurched and then everything was still except the _whir_ of the propellers.

"Ready for doors." Jim flinched as the large panels to the side of him began to split apart. Behind him, Finney, Brent, Lamli, and Farrell all rocked themselves closer to their guns, hands itching around stocks and triggers.

Jim blinked the sweat out of his eyes and watched the doors open. Heat immediately swarmed around the craft's room. Jim stifled a heave as the burn ripped into him through his suit then died down, the "breathable" rubber doing all it could to keep the warmth at bay. Jim gripped his line and leaned slightly out of the craft.

A dessert stared up at him. Dunes rolled along the surface of the planet like snakes, all coiling themselves around a walled off collection of curving buildings and walkways: ShiKahr. Jim gawked down at the city before spotting the building that had been in his file. A small gasp caught in his throat as he saw two figures run out of the building and stop in the small courtyard nearby.

Jim could hear Pike scream "GO!" but he was already zipping down his line, heels clamped around the cord while his right arm hung on. Warm air and dust whistled past him as he _dropped_, falling further and further, the city seemingly growing from the ground. A tight knot had formed in his gut that shifted closer to his chest the lower he slid. His mask let out a puff of air that hit Jim's face and making him realize he'd been holding his breathe. He took a lungful in through his teeth.

Suddenly, the dropping feeling stopped and a jarring shock flew up Jim's calves. Jim steadied himself and looked out ahead of him.

Lady Amanda stood there, her eyes wide as they searched Jim's face. She wore a grey dressed that fluttered around her ankles and a hood sat over her thick brown hair. Over her nose, mouth, and chin was a filter-mask, much lighter and less constricting than the mask Alpha was given. Little pistons moved up and down to the beat of the woman's heaving chest. Jim blinked at her almost in a daze then saw him; halfway behind Lady Amanda's leg was the small frame of Spock, his dark eyes peeking out from under a line of black bangs.

Jim felt his body numb. They were _there_—_ He was _right _there_.

A heavy _thunk_ sounded from Jim's side as Pike joined him on the ground. It took Jim only a second to follow after his captain when he darted over to the pair, his line stretching and trailing after. Pike came to a stop in front of Lady Amanda, Jim right behind him. "Lady Amanda!" his voice came out strained and muffled from the mask and the drone of the craft above them. "We are here to evacuate you!"

The woman's eyes glistened and crinkled above her mask. The pistons on her mask pulled apart as her voice came, "Thank you."

Pike nodded and pulled on his line. He tugged the noblewoman closer and began strapping her to him. He flicked his head at Jim.

Turning, Jim looked down at Spock. He stood ram-rod straight where his mother had been pulled away from him. He wore a grey tunic and black pants, and his round face was wrapped in a blue filter-mask. He stared up at Jim with weary yet stern eyes.

Jim stepped forward and grabbed Spock's arm to pull him closer. He hesitated when the boy visibly froze. "It's okay!" Jim shouted over the whipping air, taking his hand away. He held his palm out and tugged on his line. "Everything will be okay now!"

Spock stared at Jim's palm before edging closer; he jumped when Jim wrapped the line around his hips and over each shoulder. Jim clipped the lines together and tugged it. He looked over at Pike and gave him a thumbs-up.

Pike returned the gesture and turned to yell into his comm. "Kirk coming up!"

Jim felt a wave of relief flood his chest as he felt his line tug. He flung an arm around Spock's waist, ready to hike him close, but was slapped away by a quick hand. His line stopped moving. Jim blinked and frowned. "Let's go, kid!" he yelled, eyes bulging as Spock actually took a step _away_ from him.

Spock shook his head once, his slanted eyebrows lowering over his intense eyes. His filter-mask hummed as he barely yelled, "You will allow my mother to board first."

Jim blinked in bewilderment—his brain not processing why the hell they were still on the ground and not high-tailing their asses out of there. Jim shook his head and tugged on the extension between him and Spock. "You first!"

Dark brown eyes glared at him over the filter-mask. "You will guarantee my mother's safety before mine," Spock half-yelled again. "I will not board until she does."

Behind them, Lady Amanda yelled through her mask. "_Hal-tor_!" Jim watched Spock whip his head around to stare at his mother. He gave her the same steely gaze he'd just given him and shook his head.

"Jim! We gotta go!" Pike yelled, voice piercing through Jim's comm. and racking his ear.

Spock turned his head back to Jim. He was sturdy, like a rock. Jim knew he wouldn't budge. "Then go!" he felt himself say. He heard Pike curse then the sound of his line reeling through the air. Jim looked up to see both his captain and Lady Amanda being pulled up into the craft.

"_Now, Kirk!_" Pike's voice rang through his comm.

Jim looked back at Spock. The harshness in the kid's eyes had died down. He almost looked…thankful now. Jim yanked the extension between them _tight_, lurching Spock into his chest. He hooked his arm around the Vulcan's waist and tugged on his line. Within a second, the line took them off the ground.

Jim let out an audible sigh. He shut his eyes briefly, letting the enormous rush he'd just had sweep over him. Pike would give him hell for not following orders, but at least they were safe now. Everyone was safe and Jim could finally start to relax. He blinked up at the belly on the craft, seeing how they were feet away, then back out to look over the tops of ShiKahr. He made a mental note to never come back to the city—shit, the _planet_. Hot and dry was a climate that he was used to, but _this_ place was insane compared to Iowa summers.

In his arms, Spock clutched to the straps around his shoulders and tucked his knees up between them. He was completely still. Jim could feel a _thump-thump-thump_ under the spot where his hand met his side.

It felt like a heartbeat…

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw something gleam. He turned his head and squinted against his glass of his mask. There was a row of buildings next to the pick-up area, all crumbling and bent. On one wall, there was a wide arch that used to hold a window, now empty. Jim stared at the window with a knot in his throat. The gleam came again.

Twisting his head, Jim talked into his comm., "Finney, your side. There's a building with…" Jim stopped as a figure stood up from behind the window.

Everything seemed to slow as Jim watched the Romulan take a silver ball in his teeth and rip it back in his hand. He hurled it, sending the ball flying towards the craft and backing away as it _clunked_ inside the opening.

"Sorry, Jim. Repeat?" Finney's voice came through just as Jim heard a _click_ and the craft above him blew.

0-0-0

Above him, Jim heard his line snap. His blood turned to ice as a sinking feeling punched him in the gut and he was falling—no, _they_ were falling. Just before colliding with the ground, Jim managed to place himself between Spock and the concrete street.

The ground connected with Jim's back like lightning, sending a current through his bones and making him limp. He opened his mouth to scream or curse or anything, but nothing came. His head spun and a rumble had settled itself in his ears. A blast of red and orange hovered in the air. He watched, almost dazed, as the craft that had just been there was replaced with a heavy cloud of black smoke.

_What…_

Something _zinged _past Jim's face and buried itself into the concrete. He turned his head slowly to look at the bent propeller that had landed next to him. It took him a moment to realize what was happening.

Groaning, Jim summoned the strength to flip Spock over, laying himself across the other as chunks of metal and broken glass pelted the ground around them. He could feel the debris hit his back and dig into his suit. Spock laid under him, wide-eyed and as straight as a board.

When the size of the debris soon turned to just pellets of heated metal, Jim looked up. He whipped his head this way and that before pushing himself gently off of Spock; he remained on the ground. Jim walked over to the burning mass of metal that smoldered just a few feet away. The flames and smoke licked up at his mask, sending dancing movements across the glass.

_What…No…_

Jim shook his head, the realization finally clicking with him. "NO!" he yelled, running all the way over to the rubble. He screeched to a stopped and held his hands out in front of him, shaking and thinking of what to _do_. "Alpha!? Alpha!" he called into the fire.

There was no answer, not a sound.

Jim shivered as he flipped on his comm. "Alpha, respond! Anyone!" He waited. "Captain… Chris!? Chris! Please!" Jim gagged as only static sounded through the comm. Cursing, Jim drove both arms into the heap, ready to dig for his team, only to pull it back as fire nipped at his suit. "Jesus!"

He staggered back and wiped at the black ash that was now dusted across his mask.

_What is this? How…No…_

He stood motionless for a moment before feeling his lips quiver. They're dead, he thought. How…

Jim stopped when a shot zoomed past him. He spun around and locked his eyes onto the spot where the Romulan had been. He was still there, gun in hand, aimed at his position. "Shit!" Jim darted backwards as the Romulan let lose another shot, this one barely grazing his left thigh. Jim ran towards Spock—_Spock!_ The boy had sat up from his spot on the ground and now stared absently at the burning rubble. His eyes reflected the fires with intensity, yet his gaze was far-off and empty.

Another shot came, and then two quickly in a row, all missing, but Jim could feel the Romulan locking down on them. Without stopping, Jim scooped Spock into his arms and flung him over his shoulder. Spock grunted but didn't struggle as Jim darted them into a nearby building. Jim hurled Spock through a broken piece of the buildings wall and then followed suit, just managing to avoid being shot.

Jim landed in a heap next to Spock, who lay (yet again) on his back. Jim gritted his teeth and pulled both Spock and himself up against the wall, out of view. He panted, letting his racing heart try and slow down. Clicking on his comm., Jim yelled out as a shot sliced through the brick wall across the room.

"_USS _Ulysses, this is Lieutenant James T. Kirk! Our craft has crashed! Repeat, our craft has crashed. Uh…" the spit in his throat was sticky and dry and Jim struggled to get his words out, "s-seven down, no, uh, eight. Shatter-grenade used…ah… Immediate beam up needed—"

Jim stopped as a shot echoed through the air and collided with his comm. "FUCK!" he roared and ripped the short circuiting comm. off of his shoulder, flinging it onto the ground. He clamped a gloved hand over the bloody hole the shot made as it buried itself into his skin. "Fuck me…" Jim whimpered.

Beside him, Spock sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, his face turned down and shoulders hunched. Jim stared at him before telling him to stay. He stood and hissed through his teeth as his shoulder burned. Jim inched over to the opening they had come through. He counted to three and then stuck out his arm. A shot followed soon after.

Jim jerked his arm back and returned to his spot near Spock. The gunman would either wait for them or get tired and leave; Jim wasn't sure which one a Romulan would favor. Jim staggered over and slumped against the wall, letting his back slide down it and sag to the ground. He took in labored breaths. Spock still sat with his body curled in on itself. Jim felt his lip quiver again.

Everything was fucked. _None _of this was supposed to have happened. No one was supposed to die—not Spock's family, and definitely not his, not again. Anyone else would have cried, Jim guessed, but he never cried, not for anything—

And apparently neither did Spock.

* * *

_Finally got to this chapter!_


	5. (Location)

**_10-20:_**

After a while, Jim determined the gunman had wandered off; there were no more bullets and the Romulan hadn't come down looking for them, so Jim risked a glance through the open wall. There was no one.

Jim looked over at Spock. "He's gone," he whispered.

The boy remained still, shoulders barely raising with each small breathe he took. Jim frowned before pushing his back off the wall and standing. He hissed as a gut-clenching pain ripped through his shoulder. Jim slapped a gloved palm over the bloody hole in his suit.

Outside, two suns blared in the sky. They hung parallel to each other, their light and overwhelming heat spilling out over the broken city. The sky had turned from a dusty grey to a very timid blue with no clouds in sight. Jim could feel sweat start to build up around the edges of his mask and under his armpits as he edged out from cover, thanking his suit for giving him some layer of protection against the temperature.

The heat only rose as Jim got closer to the burning rubble of the rotorcraft. Heaps of charred metal sat under a shroud of crackling fire. Black smoke rolled up into the air and dispersing into a haze that floated away in the sky. Jim raised an arm as he walked closer to the rubble.

He reached for a large panel that leaned against the heap and quickly ripped it away. A pocket of smoke rushed out, sending Jim two paces backwards. He wiped down the smudges on his mask and edged closer. Jim's eyes scanned it, looking for…something.

_Someone_.

He pulled back some more debris. He tugged on a chunk of glass, sliding it out of the fires and throwing it away, then reached for more. Jim reached for some more and blanched. A slumped shape was draped over a metal bar, limp and lifeless, body burnt beyond repair.

"Jesus!" Jim yelled and reeled back, body shaking as if the sight had punched him in the gut. Hot anger flashed through him as bile flooded the back of his throat. He turned his back on the crash and gritted his teeth together, screams and curses bubbling on his tongue. He felt like dying too, becoming another piece of ash in the wreckage just like his team.

_Why? _

Jim shut his eyes tightly and shook his head.

_Why was it always him?_

He could feel the itch of tears in his eyes but bit those back so hard Jim thought his head would explode.

_Always _his_ family? Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy—_

Jim took in another breath and composed himself before stalking back into the building. He didn't look back. Spock was still sitting in his ball on the floor, body stiff. For a brief second, Jim wanted to shake him, ask him why wasn't he crying or screaming or angry or _anything_. Why he was so calm while Jim felt like he was a lit fuse.

"Let's go," Jim said, trying to keep his voice leveled. "We don't want to be here when they send a team to check out the craft."

Spock didn't move.

Jim felt his lips twitch and bit down on them. "Let's _go_," he said again, this time reaching down and tapping the Vulcan on the thin shoulder.

At this, Spock's head shot up and he glared up at Jim over his filter-mask. The two stared at each other for a moment before Spock stood. This close, Jim could see how small Spock was compared to him. His head hit his shoulder, maybe higher, but that didn't seem to faze the kid. He stood with such a sharp posture that Jim felt like _he_ was the one in charge.

Jim tried to match the scowl on Spock's face as he said again, "Let's go. We need to find a comm." He kicked at the broken comm. he had thrown on the ground only hours before. "All of the communication towers are probably shot but there might be a personal comm. in a house somewhere…"

He stopped when Spock lowered his head, more interested in his feet than what he was being told.

Jim snorted and made his way over to the hole in the wall. "You stay right behind me, alright?" he muttered over his shoulder at Spock. He walked out, making sure that he didn't looked towards the rubble, and slowly made his way along the curve of the building. He made it to the building's side and peek around the corner. A quiet, barren street lined with crooked houses looked back at him. Jim eyed the closest house.

"Alright, stay with me. We're going to run to that—" Jim stopped when he turned to look at Spock.

He was crowded behind him, not to close, but there, hunched together. His human eyes were looking off to the side. Jim followed the line of sight over to the fiery pile of debris. His stomach did a flip. He knew what Spock was thinking, even if the kid would never say it himself.

They had both failed _them_, all of them, and now they were leaving them to turn into dust. Jim sighed and swallowed. "Keep with me," he said before jogging across the street and towards the house.

Spock followed without any objections.

_0-0-0_

Jim pushed back the tattered curtain that split the house's rooms apart. He looked in. "Okay," Jim turned back to look at Spock. "Go a…what are you doing?"

Spock stood in the doorway with one leg bent up. He glared over at Jim, the pistons on his mask twitching. He slipped one of his boots off and held it tentatively. He did this again for the other foot then walked into the room, both boots tucked into the crook of his arm. He stopped when he reached Jim's side.

Jim eyed Spock's boots before cocking an eyebrow. "No one's home."

Spock's response was a puff of steam from his mask.

"Well, go ahead," Jim said again, raising the curtain. Spock ducked under it without a word, causing Jim to roll his eyes.

The room was practically empty other than two tall overturned tables and a large mat lying on the floor. Small dishes sat along the sides of the mat, all full of black ash and burnt wicks. The furthest wall was covered by a wall-hanging depicting Vulcan inscriptions. Jim walked toward the drapery and ran his gloved hand down it.

"_Sss,_" he hissed as his bullet wound flared. "What does this mean?" he asked, through his teeth.

Spock glanced his way but said nothing, to busy exiting through another curtain. Jim sighed and jogged after the young Vulcan, leaving the drapery to hang in silence.

"Don't run off like that, kid," Jim grumbled passing the curtain. He looked over at Spock who stood staunchly by a wall, his boots sitting comfortably in his arms. Besides him, a white box sat on a low table.

Jim's eyes widened.

"Holy shit!" He ran over to the box (not minding that Spock deliberately turned his shoulder so they wouldn't touch) and knelt down. He patted the side the box and wiped down the small black screen on top. The comm. was old, _really_ old, but it was still a comm., a personal one at that. Jim felt around the back of the comm. till there was a little _click_ and a small compartment opened up. He fished out the speaker cable from and held it close to his mask.

A small red button was at the bottom of the cable. Jim pressed it. "Come on, baby," Jim licked his lips as he rubbed the top of the comm. The black screen there flickered then came one with a buzz of static. "Yes! Fuck yes! We got a comm.!"

Above him, Spock's mask let loose another huff of steam. He watched as Jim fiddled with the speaker. "We'll have to send a dispatch through a tower to reach the ship but," Jim stopped to laugh sheepishly, "who the fuck cares, right? We got a comm.!"

Clicking on the small switch under the cable top, Jim talked into it. "This is Lieutenant James T. Kirk, FSOC Alpha to UFP tower 1, copy?"

The comm. buzzed as it took in Jim's words then there was silence. Jim glanced up at Spock then back to the comm. "FSOC Alpha to UFP tower 1."

Silence.

"Tsk," Jim hit the speaker on his mask in frustration. "Tower 1, _please_ copy." The comm. buzzed and whirled yet the line remained dead. The vein in Jim's temple throbbed. "For fuck's sake, TOWER 1!"

The comm.'s screen skittered then a thick green line came across it, followed by a metallic voice. "_UFP tower 1 to FSOC Alpha, please state your location._"

Jim let go of the breath he'd been holding back with an, "Oh, thank God." He looked up at Spock and gave him a toothy grin. "Yes…yes, uh, coordinates unknown. Approximate to, ah, midtown ShiKahr. Request for two to beam up—repeat, two—by Federation Starship _USS Ulysses_."

There was a pause. "_Please state names and recognition numbers._"

"Kirk, James T., Rec. Number 51152-45196," Jim said slowly, smile faltering. "Juvie pickup 99941-02 under FSOC database."

Pause. "_…State your location._"

Jim felt his teeth clamp together. "I already _did,_ God dammit. Midtown ShiKahr."

"…_Please specify,_" the robotic voice came out cold.

"UGH!" Jim clenched the speaker cable tightly in one hand and slammed the other on the ground. "Listen to me you fuckin' machine, I've got a kid here who needs to get back to his dad. Now patch us through and beam us the fuck up!"

The robot seemed to process what had been said then returned with a, "_Please state your location._"

At this, Jim jumped up from the floor and punched the top of the comm. "You're. Not. Fuckin'. Listening, you piece of shit!" he roared. "We don't know where we're lo—"

Jim's words mushed together as Spock quietly leaned over his shoulder and _spoke_. "We are approximately 12.37586 kilometers from the center point of ShiKahr," he said, voice so foreign that it made Jim's ears itch. When he finished, he pulled away and looked down at Jim's shocked face.

"Really?" Jim managed.

Spock glanced up at him.

"Hah…" Jim shook his head and said into the speaker, "You hear that?"

A long pause. "_…Please stand by._"

There was a click then the green line on the screen disappeared. Jim gawked over at Spock, eyes wide. "How'd you know that?"

The young Vulcan gave Jim a look, his human eyes glinting before returning to their normal edge. "I mapped our steps here."

Jim stared at Spock even after he looked away. Hah, smart son of a bitch, he thought.

"_Transfer commencing._" Jim flinched as the robot called through the speaker. "_Transfer complete._"

This time, a high-pitched voice came on. "Hello. This is UFP Tower One. Am I speaking to Lt. James Kirk?"

"Yes you are. Am I speaking to an actual person or is this just another fuckin' Federation robot?" Jim spat out.

The voice on the other line came back stuttering. "Y-Yes I am a p-person, sir. P-Pavel Chekov, transmission office, s-sir. Sir, you have r-requested a beam up by the _USS Ulysses_ from an approximate radius of 12.37586 from the center point of ShiKahr. Am I correct?"

"Yeah."

"…Y-Yes I have found your approximate position."

Jim waited. "…Well, what? What are you waiting for?"

"…I am being told that ShiKahr has been deemed a lock-down zone, sir. Bok-Beam ups are strictly forbidden in lock-down zones. Ve cannot—"

"Chekov, right?" Jim cut in.

"Yes, sir?" Chekov squeaked.

Jim smiled tightly. "I've got a minor with me who I have been sent _directly_ from the top to retrieve and bring back safely. Now tell me how I'm supposed to do that if you can't _beam us up!?_"

"I-I…stand by."

Jim scratched at the bit of scalp that his mask didn't cover. "Motherfucker…" he glanced over at Spock to find his eyes trained on him. I'm working on it, kid, he thought.

"Lieutenant Kirk?"

Jim rolled his head back to the comm. and switched the speaker on. "Yeah, what?"

The person on the other line cleared his throat. "This is Anton DeSalle from UFP Tower 00. Am I to understand you have pickup 999410-2 with your persons?"

"Yes."

"Has the pickup been compromised?"

Jim heard himself laugh. "What?—compromised. No! _No_, he's fine! We're _both_ fine!" Jim stressed. "Now beam us up! The ensign I was just talking to said you had our position—"

"Lieutenant?"

"Yes?"

DeSalle's voice came out grave, "I regret to inform you that the Federation, or any branches of the Federation, cannot assist you further. The city of ShiKahr, as well Gol, T'Paal, and Vulcan Regar, have been deemed infected under 42 code CFR 71. Any persons who have been exposed to these areas before the time 7:14 this morning are to remain in their current positions."

Jim felt his blood run cold. "42…42, that's Foreign Quarantine! Are you saying we're under quarantine?"

"Yes. I'm deeply sorry Lieutenant."

With that, the line went dead.

It took Jim a moment to realize that the only thing he was listening to was static. "_Wait!_—Hello? Hello…" Jim blinked dumbly at the comm. and let the speaker drop out of his numb fingers. He breathed in and out, letting his breath cloud his mask.

"We are under quarantine?" Jim blinked and turned around to look at Spock; he stood quietly with his hands clasped behind his back, dark eyes attentive and wide. "We are under quarantine?" he repeated.

Jim furrowed his brow as he looked down at the ground. His head was buzzing, like he had just taken a blow to the skull over and over and _over _again.

They had left them. He didn't understand.

For some reason, he felt betrayed that the Federation didn't try harder, that they just dropped the comm. after he and Spock had suffered through so much already. They dropped them off the fucking comm. and that was it? UFP had never had his back, but to leave them stranded.

To be willing to let them _die_.

Jim looked down at the UFP insignia printed into his suit's chest. He set his jaw.

No—He _did_ understand.

This was a war. This was "every man for himself." It had always been that way, and UFP didn't give a damn if they didn't make it.

Spock moved back as Jim bustled by him and grappled with the comm. He watched with narrowed eyes before sighing inwardly. "Lieutenant Kirk, I see no reason to waste the communicator's energy on further contact with—" Spock stopped talking when Jim ripped the comm.'s wires out of the wall. He watched as Jim hoisted the comm. onto his back, securing it with one of the straps that held his oxygen tank on.

Jim turned to look at Spock. "Come on," he sniffed before turning and stalking towards the curtain.

Spock blinked but followed, hugging his boots closer to his chest. "Where are we to go?"

Jim continued to walk. "Out of here."

He heard Spock shuffle to put on his shoes while keeping up with him. "There is no way to depart ShiKahr, Lieutenant," he called.

Jim kept walking.

"To travel out of cover would be unwise."

"…"

Spock slid his last boot on and strode in next to Jim just as they reached the exit of the house. "Lieutenant. Please listen to reason."

Spinning around, Jim shoved a finger in Spock's face. "I came here to _save you,_" he hissed. "I'm not going to give up just because we're on "lock-down", alright. Just because they don't give a shit," Jim gestured upwards, "doesn't mean I don't."

Jim watched as Spock's posture stiffened and sighed. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, okay. I'm not leaving without you either." He glanced around. "And I'm sure as hell not staying here."

The pistons on Spock's mask twitched as he dipped his head away from Jim's gaze. Jim nodded and hiked up his oxygen pack, the edges of the comm. resting uncomfortably on his back. "And we're not infected, okay?" he added. "Whatever that guy was talking about is a load of crap. We got our masks on, we're…we're fine, okay. We're fine."

He nodded his head roughly at Spock. "Okay?"

Spock's brown eyes glanced about then he nodded in return, black bangs sliding to the sides of his pale face.

Jim swallowed down the lump in his throat and walked out into the scorching air outside. He waited for Spock to follow. "Now, where are the city's exits?"

Spock stopped a few paces behind him. He shook his head while saying, "There is a land bridge approximately 170.8 miles from our current location that connects ShiKahr to the local Interplanetary Docking Station. Other entrances were and are still blocked by Romulan forces."

"Hmm," Jim hummed and grabbed at his wounded arm. "A port?" He walked along the empty street and over to the next house. He backed both Spock and himself up against the house's wall. "How long would it take us to get there?"

Besides him, Spock blinked at the ground, brow lined. "With the lack of transportation, we are left with walking. This being said, I would estimate it would take nearly 55 hours to successfully reach the station."

Jim breathed as he looked down the street; there was no one. "Only 55?"

"Yes. However, Lieutenant, there is the likelihood that the station has been clos—"

"Only 55?" Jim said again.

Spock's thick eyebrows scrunched together momentarily. "Yes, _Lieutenant_, as long as we do not rest nor slow our walking speed for the entirety of the trip."

Jim closed his eyes and sighed.

He wasn't scared—ever, but he was at a loss. He didn't know what the hell to do, but he wouldn't let Spock know that. He was the only thing that was going to keep him alive, keep him from joining his mother…

Wiping at his mask, Jim flicked his hand for Spock to follow him. "Let's get going then." He jogged out into the middle of the street, all the while looking from each house's covered windows. They needed to be careful, cautious. They had no weapons, they had no backup. It was just them, Jim thought.

He shot Spock a look over his shoulder, checking to see if the boy was still with him.

It was just them.

* * *

_Chapter 5!_


	6. (Escort)

_**10-59:**_

Jim could feel beads of sweat roll down the line of his spine and bury themselves in his between the rubber of his suit and the top of his ass. Even in the "breathable" suit he was sweating like a pig.

Stopping, Jim patted at the sweat around his wounded shoulder. The hole there was caked in stale blood and sand with a large bruise forming around its edges. Jim hissed as he poked a gloved finger at the tender skin.

They had been walking for (from what the clock in his mask was telling him) two hours, yet it felt like they had been going for weeks. The dessert heat swamped over his shoulders and back, clinging to him and weighing him down. He hung his head and took in a large breath in hopes of settling his upset stomach. Jim nearly retched at just how _weak_ he felt. He never felt _weak_, but Vulcan made him feel like he was an ant under a microscope.

Spock didn't seemed effected by the heat; he plucked on behind Jim without a word. "Do you require rest?" he asked from behind, voice so stiff that it made Jim want to puke.

"Nah. It's just fuckin' hot," Jim shook his head and swallowed back bitter spit. He squinted forward. "How far…have we walked?"

Coming up beside him, Spock turned his head almost robotically to the side. The pistons on his mask pumped up and down. "I estimate around 3 miles," he said finally.

Jim groaned. I could run that in my sleep, he thought. "Christ, this atmosphere's fucked up."

"Are you unwell, Liuentant?" Spock asked, inching closer to Jim yet still keeping a decent distance between them.

"I'm fine," Jim snapped, itching to get at the sweat under his mask. He and shook off the brief heat stroke that ripped at him under his suit and started walking again. He wasn't going to let a little sun turn him into a pussy.

He heard Spock's mask _sigh_. "Lying about your health is unwise."

"I'm _fine_," Jim sneered over his shoulder. He hiked up his tank, the comm. patting at his thigh.

"Then you would not oppose the suggestion to quickening our pace." Jim stopped and turned around to stare down at Spock. The Vulcan looked back at him with a glint in his eyes. "You are fine, are you not?"

Jim felt his chest cave in as he let out a laugh. "Little bit of an attitude there kid?" he smirked, raising a fist and gently tapping it on the Vulcan's boney shoulder.

The light in Spock's eyes vanished almost immediately as he flinched back. "Vulcans do not possess "attitudes." That is a human characteristic."

Jim blinked dumbly at his still raised fist. He flexed it before dropping it to hang limply at his side. "Attitudes come with personalities. Everyone has a personality."

"Vulcans are born with near-identical attitudinal and behavioral response patterns. Therefore, Vulcans do not have personalities nor attitudes," Spock droned from behind his mask.

"That doesn't matter," Jim said, almost defensively. "Everyone's different and if it's only _near_-identical patterns or whatever then there's room for someone to be their own person—"

"We will cease this conversation," Spock cut in, "as you obviously have no knowledge on the topic you are speaking about," He stared up at Jim before turning his face.

For a moment, Jim stood with his mouth open. He shut it and wiped a hand down the back of his head. "You're right," he said. "I don't know anything. Sorry."

Spock continued to look away. Jim felt his stomach churn. He was never good with kids—or apologies. "Look, I'm sorry kid. Sometimes I can talk too much, ya know."

He stopped when Spock held up a thin hand. "What?"

Spock stayed silent.

Jim furrowed his brow and huffed. "Hey, take the apology or not, like I give a fuck, but don't go given me the silent treatment."

"Be quiet," Spock spat, jerking his head to the side. His eyes were wide and his pointed ears were twitching on the sides of his head. He looked past Jim's shoulder with a start. "There is something coming."

Jim blinked before whipping around. He stared down the deserted street, cautiously scanning the horizon. He shook his head and turned back to Spock. "There's nothing—HEY!" Jim nearly tripped over his own feet as Spock sprinted past him and into a nearby building.

Jim stood in the middle of the street, dumbfounded, before darting off as well. Jumping a low wall, Jim landed on the other side of a deserted house, face to face with Spock. "Fuck, kid!" he hissed, breath fogging up his mask. "The hell are you doin'—"

"_SHH_," Spock interrupted with a quick wave of his hand. Jim watched as the young Vulcan pressed his ear on the wall and listen.

Slowly, Jim turned his head to look down at the ground. Specs of rock and rubble bounced off the dirt floor and soon a rumble shook Jim from the inside out. Jim propped himself up higher on an elbow and peeked over the wall's top.

Coming around the bend of the street was a large tank. It had four tracks and a large body, black paint coating its entire metal surface. Gun barrels and hatch doors seemed to jut out from the tank at all angles while grey fumes spilled out of its rear and rose into the sky. It screeched as its wheels slowed and the behemoth parked in the middle of the street.

Jim's breath lurched as a hatch door creaked then slammed open. An armor clad body climbed out and jumped onto the ground, black boots stamping on the street with a _crunch_. He wore a slick black body suit, with pads and straps and clips. A gas mask, an older model, with lenses and a tube connecting his mouth to the tank on his back, covered his face. Looking closer, Jim could make out the design of sharp wings stamped into the metal of the large gun the soldier carried.

"_Shit_." Jim whipped his head back around and lowered himself even further down the wall. He looked over at Spock. "_Romulans_."

Nine or so more soldiers climbed out and joined the first, covered faces turning, simultaneously surveying the area. All of them had guns, some even had knives dangling from their belts.

"_There will be exits near the back of the building_," Jim heard Spock whisper. "_We should vacate the area before our cover is found_."

Jim shook his head as he watched the first Romulan swipe his hand in the air and the group of soldiers dispersed; two began walking toward the wall.

The hairs on the back of Jim's neck stood on end as he listened to the soldiers' feet crunching on the ground. The footsteps stopped just outside the wall. Underneath his suit, Jim's heart pounded. He shot a look over at Spock, subconsciously wanting to pull him closer, hide him. They were both silent as one of the Romulans peered into the wreckage of the building.

"Lliu," Jim's ears pricked as a guttural voice echoed above his head. "Kyrr'lep ilhaels, mrht aeu's aei."

Another one spoke. "Ishae aei?"

"…Ie."

Jim heard the two soldiers' boots scuff the ground as they turned and walked back to the tank. Jim sighed. "_They're going_," he whispered over to Spock.

"_No_."

Jim looked at Spock with a frown. "_No." What do ya mean no_?"

Spock turned his head. "_They are planning to burn all the books in this building_."

Blinking, Jim looked across the tattered room to see a self-full of dusty books. A booming _SS-CHH_ echoed through the air, causing Jim to flinch. He craned his neck over the wall again.

The soldiers were all gathered around the largest of the group; even from where he was, Jim could see the Romulan's bulging muscles under his black suit. He held a large metallic pipe in his hands, one gripping the shaft while the other held on a lever on the machine's side. Smoke was pouring out of the pipe's end. The soldier walked up to the next building (two down from where they hid.) His comrades all watched from the tank as he pulled down the lever and a ball of fire shot out of the pipe, engulfing the building.

Jim's stomach sank.

"_MOVE_," Jim hissed and grabbed Spock's thin arm as another _SS-CHH_ came from outside. He yanked the boy away from the wall and hustled them across the room. Throwing Spock behind a fallen roof panel, Jim turned just in time to see the Romulan braced himself in front of the building.

Jim fell to the ground as fire ripped through the room, curling himself into a ball on the floor. Heat blazed above him, licking at his back and neck. Even with his mask, Jim felt like he was suffocating.

Suddenly, the heat was gone, leaving only smoke and ash. Jim blinked and lifted his head, unfolding his legs and stretching out his body on the floor. Jim let out a sigh before pushing himself off the floor, injured shoulder aching. He crouched and peered out into the room.

The place was now a black, charred hole. Smoke filtered through out the space, hovering close to the ceiling, while piles of black ash sat in clumps on the floor. Jim felt his chest twist as he looked over at the shelves; the books that were once there were now gone, replaced by burnt scars on the shelves.

Jim blinked before his eyes snapped open. "_Spock_!" he called.

There was a shuffle before a small body crawled out of the rubble. Spock's brow was furrowed and his mop of black hair was tangled and, in some areas, burnt. "_I am well, Lieutenant._"

Jim smiled weakly and brushed at the back of his head, pulling back his own helping of burnt hair. He brushed off his gloves and watched as Spock made it all the way to the wall. "_Are they gone_?" he asked.

Jim risked a look over the scorched wall. The large solider was back at the tank, earning pats on the shoulders from the rest of the group. Jim let his back sag against the wall with a sigh. "_I think so_."

Spock nodded slightly and plucked at his charred locks of hair in disgust.

Jim laughed softly and shook his head. He turned and watched as the Romulans loaded back into the tank.

_Too close, Kirk. _

Pike's voice echoed through Jim's head, so clear Jim thought his captain was in the room with him.

"He-Hello?"

Jim's eyes widened as a stuttering voice reverberated through the room. He looked over at Spock; the boy's brown eyes were fixed on the comm. hanging from Jim's tank.

"Hello, Lieutenant Kirk. It's me, Pavel Chekov. Do you read!" the voice boomed again, followed by static from the comm.

Jim felt his blood run cold as he shot a look at the Romulans. The last one had paused just outside the tank's hatch, his head turned towards the wall. After a moment, the soldier stepped off the tank and began walking towards them.

"_Fuck_!" Jim cursed and sunk behind the wall.

"I-I did not copy zat, sir. Repeat?" Chekov's squeaky voice piped up through the comm.

Jim pounded on the top of the comm. "_Shut up_!" He glanced over, breath catching as the Romulan was now only yards away.

"Hello?"

Jim slapped the comm. again. At this, Spock ripped the comm. away and surveyed it in his hands. "_Shut it up_!" he hissed into Spock's ear as the sound of footsteps grew louder.

"Lieutenant Kir—"

Before Chekov could finish, Spock pried open the back of the comm. and ripped out a thick purple cord. The comm. fell silent just as the Romulan stopped in front of the wall.

Everything was _quiet_, other than the Romulan's breath through his mask—_phff-ha phff-ha_. Jim sank so far down the wall that his shoulders went past his ears. Sweat ran down the curve of his jaw and down the line of his neck, itching at his skin, yet he didn't dare move.

Spock sat next to him like a small statue, eyes focused on the ground and breath stifled. In his hands sat the comm., dead and useless. Jim noted that he would destroy the thing if they got out of this.

Above them, the Romulan moved the head, the leather of his suit and mask squeaking. He placed a hand on the wall, fingers barely brushing the tip of Jim's hair. He leaned forward and tilted is head.

Inches—inches till he found them. Jim bit down on his tongue and prepared for the soldier to reach down and yank him out into the open, to kill them both.

"R'Imus, mnaes."

Jim nearly let out a yell as the Romulan leaned away when one of his comrades called him. He backed away from the wall and stood motionless near the side of the street.

"R'Imus!"

The other soldier called again. The Romulan tilted his head before shouting a, "Ra!" and turning away.

It was only after the Romulan boarded the tank and drove away did Jim take a breath. "Jesus!" he sighed, hanging his head in between his shoulders. He swallowed and licked his lips. He turned to Spock who immediately looked up at him. They stared at each other for a moment, both composing themselves, before Jim pointed at the comm. and purple wire in Spock's hands. "Can you put it back together?"

Spock blinked twice. "Of course, Lieutenant."

Before Jim could say more, Spock snapped the wire back into the comm.'s slot and shut it. Without missing a beat, a high pitched voice flooded the room.

"Lieutenant Kirk! Lieutenant Kirk! Are you there?! Plees, talk to me!"

Jim refrained from rolling his eyes and fished the speaker cable out of the comm. "Yeh, we hear you."

"Oh, thank goodness, sir! I thought zat you might haff been captured!" Chekov nearly squealed.

Jim sighed and adjusted his grip on the cable. He chose not to mention the fact that because of the comm., they were almost caught, as the young dispatcher seemed frazzled already. "No. We're fine, for now."

Besides him, Spock stared down at the comm. with disgruntled eyes. "Mr. Chekov," he began, leaning closer to the cable in Jim's hand, "why are you communicating with us? I was lead to believe that all branches of the Federation were not to aid us in any way."

Jim furrowed his brow. "Yeah. What are you doing?"

There was a pause. "V-Vell, I thought zat the decisions of my superiors was a bad one. I do not find it right zat you would be left with no one to help you. I-I'm not supposed to be doing zis, but I snuck into the comm. station after hours."

Jim blinked over at Spock. "So…what? You're going to help us?"

"Yes, sir!" Chekov piped. "I vill help you escape Wulcan! See, I steel have your coordinates and I hacked into the central line so I have wisuals on all on-ground Romulans."

Jim wiped a hand across the back of his neck before standing, black soot falling off of his suit as he rose. "You hacked in… That's, um, that's great, but," he paused. "H-How old are you, again?"

"Sewenteen, sir! I am the youngest deespatcher in Starfleet!"

Spock shot Jim a look then leaned over the cable. "Mr. Chekov, helping us will also bring a possibility that your tampering in Federation databases will be found and that your position will be terminated."

Pause. "I…I know zis, sir."

"And you're fine with that?" Jim felt his throat tighten.

Another pause. "Yes, sir."

Jim's head buzzed with _wearenotaloneweare_not_alonethankGod_. He sniffed before stepping over the wall. Spock followed. "You're gonna to help us?" he asked.

Chekov squeaked, "Yes, sir! I vill try my best!"

Looking around, Jim gestured for Spock to follow him down the line of burnt buildings; their boots crunched on the piles of ash scattered around the street. "Alright, if you're gonna help us, then tell me a clear path to the Interplanetary Docking Station."

Through the comm., Jim could hear the sound of fingers hitting a keyboard. "Ah…okay! Interplanetary Docking Station! Yes!" More typing. "From vhere you are going, you vill end up passing through Main Square. Don't do zat!"

Jim stopped. "Why?"

"The Romulans haff set up barriers there, sir. You vill surely get caught if you valk through!"

Jim sighed. "Well, Mr. Chekov? Ideas?"

"Ah…" Chekov's voice came out in a hurry. "Yes, yes! There is a place called the S…s…bahh…B…B…"

Jim's lip twitched as Chekov continued to stutter. He looked over at Spock's equally irritated face. "What is it?" he mouthed.

Spock looked down at Jim with that glint in his eyes. "I believe Mr. Chekov is trying to pronounce the name of ShiKahr's distinguished gardens: Sbah Bah-Ker. It is located east of here."

"S…Sahh…"

Jim cut in. "Sbah Bah-Ker, Mr. Chekov. Get on with it."

"Yes!" Chekov let out an audible sigh. "Zis place is located 9.97 kilomeeters from your current location. Romulan forces haff not entered zis location. You vill be able to valk through vithout trouble."

Jim's heart skipped a beat as the weight on his shoulders lessened. "Are…are you serious?"

"Dead seerious, sir!" Chekov beamed.

"For fuck's sake…" Jim stifled an astonished laugh. "Mr. Chekov, I swear to God that when we get out of this I'm going to recommend you."

There was a period where only static echoed out of the comm. "—I haff to go," Chekov whispered finally. "Someone is coming. Valk 5.95 kilomeeters Northvest. There you vill find a turn. Take it. It vill lead you there."

There was more static followed by a, "Good luck."

The comm. went dead.

Jim blinked then put the cable back into the comm. He looked forward. A charred empty street stared back. "Well," he sniffed and looked down at the top of Spock's head, "let's go."

Hiking up his tank, Jim began walking down the street, minding the burnt rubble around him. "We're going to get out of here, kid," he said over his shoulder. "Don't you worry."

"Lieutenant."

Jim stopped and turned back to look at Spock. "Yeah?"

"Northwest is this way."

0-0-0

Both suns had set by the time they made it to the gardens. Jim fought with the urge to fall to his knees and sob when they reached the entrance. All the walking had been hell on his shoulder and he guessed the midafternoon heat he had to wade through took (at least) two years off his life.

Jim let himself fall down onto the small patch of short grass with a deep groan. He sniffed in a big breath of sterile air then let is out, feeling his muscles stretch before turning into Jell-O. Above him, strange purple and red trees stood tall, shading him from the glow of the moonless night sky. Other oddly colored plants and bushes sat around the gardens, all accenting the winding pathway that cut through its middle.

Jim couldn't get over how bright the place was compared to the rest of the charred and broken city.

Across from him, Spock took a seat on a rounded rock. He hadn't talk the whole way—just followed.

"This place is awesome," Jim said after a bit, breaking the strange silence that they had been it for the last four hours.

Spock glanced over at him then at a bed of reddish buds. "It is quite beautiful."

Jim nodded, sensing that the conversation was over. He leaned his head back till his world flipped and he was lying uncomfortably on his tank. Positioning himself on his side, minding his shoulder, Jim let out a sigh and closed his eyes. He was exhausted.

"My mother used to take me here on my "birthday.""

Jim cracked his eyes back open and he propped himself on his elbow. He smirked over at Spock. "That's cool." They went back to silence. "Why do you say "birthday" like that?"

Spock rolled his shoulders back and folded his legs up on the rock. "Vulcans do not celebrate "birthdays." The only celebration similar to a Terran "birthday" is Kahs-wan."

Jim blinked tiredly. "Kahs-wan?"

"Yes," Spock's mask huffed. "It is a test of maturity."

"Why don't you celebrate birthdays?" Jim yawned.

Spock hesitated. "It is just not done. However, my mother, being human, did not abide by this particular Vulcan practice."

Jim gave a sad smile. "Your mom seemed like an amazing person."

Spock's mask huffed. "She was…"

Jim smiled again and opened his mouth to say more only for a loud yawn to spill out.

"You are fatigued, Lieutenant?"

"Call me Jim."

"I would prefer not to, Lieutenant."

"Hah…" Jim sniffed and glanced through blurry eyes at the little Vulcan. "Are _you_ tired?"

"Vulcans do not experience fatigue. However, we do find that two to three hours of meditation a day aids our neurological health."

Jim nodded absently while his eyes sagged. "Well, how 'bout we both meditate for a little while, heh?" He listened to Spock shuffle his legs then there was nothing. Jim sighed, "Good night, kid."

Across from him, Spock blinked then shut his eyes as well.

"Good night, Lieutenant."

* * *

_Chapter 6!_

**(Rough)Translations:**

_Lliu_-Nothing.

_Kyrr'lep ilhaels, mrht aeu's aei_-Some books, but that's it.

_Ishae aei_- Burn it?

_Ie_-Yes.

_R'Imus, mnaes_- R'Imus, come on.

_Ra_-Fine!


	7. (Smoke Report)

_**10-73:**_

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep—_

Jim's eyes cracked open slowly.

_Beep._

Painfully, he sat up from his position on the ground. His back twitched and his muscles screamed for him to stay still as they shuddered under his bruised skin. His bones gave a delightful _pop_ and Jim let his shoulders slump forward with a sigh, exhaustion pulling him back down.

"_Fuck…_" Jim groaned and gingerly placed a gloved hand over the tender hole in his shoulder. Turning his head stiffly, he stared down at the dried patches of blood and sand and sweat. That's gotta be infected, he thought with a grimace.

Above him, one of the two suns blared, the second yet to show itself. Jim could feel the burn already cooking his outstretched legs. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rubbed them, trying to coax the ache out of his kneecaps. This action made his dick ached as his bladder had apparently doubled in size over night. For a moment, Jim thought of ripping his suit off just to be spared the humiliation of pissing himself.

_Beep._

The tiny noise again resounded against the walls of his mask. With bleary eyes, Jim blinked down at the bottom of his mask:

The words [_O2 LVLS AT 32%. PLEASE REFILL_] flashed up at Jim.

Jim felt his head buzz. It was true that the tanks had only been given enough oxygen to last (maybe) two days, but even then that was a stretch as the pure Vulcan heat around him made Jim gasp for air. He'd down the remainder of the tank before the day was over.

"God dammit," Jim snarled and leaned forward slightly to reach back and feel the tank that clung to his back. It hung there almost mockingly.

He let his arms sag next to him and lay in the grass. He blinked over at the large display of brightly colored plants and stones that covered the garden. The sight reminded him how bright Iowa could get during the summers. Jim sniffed and let his eyes slide over to the bush of red buds that brushed up against the rounded rock Spock had fallen asleep on—

_Spock!_

Jim felt his entire body freeze up.

Spock—_Spock, Spock, Spock! Holy shit!_

Jim stared at the vacant rock for a second more before sliding his legs under the weight of his gear-covered body and _pushing_, rocking himself into a standing position. He tripped slightly then steadied.

"No…" Jim whispered, holding back the urge to hyperventilate as his O2 levels changed to 31%. He lolled his head to the side, searching frantically. He went side to side and back again; all he saw were plants.

"Spock!" Jim yelled, throat immediately tightening causing Jim to cough roughly in his mask. "Fuck—_Spock!_"

Silence answered him.

Images swamped Jim's mind without pause: Spock wandering off and being captured; Spock struggling against a band of Romulans as they hold him down and place a gun to his head; Spock's dead body lying on the side of a street, bright human eyes lifeless.

Jim yelled for the Vulcan again as he took off running as fast as his sore legs would carry him. His boots kicked up dust from the winding walkway as he sped around bushes and trees and—

"SPOCK!" Jim screamed until his throat trembled.

He was nowhere, fucking nowhere.

Jim's breath came out shallow and uneven. He stood looking wildly around in the middle of the walkway until he grabbed the comm. dangling by his backside with his hand. Franticly, Jim ripped the speaker cable out of the comm.'s compartment and slapped the machine on. "Chekov?!" he barked into the cable.

Static filtered out of the comm.

"Chekov, I've lost Spock!" Jim yelled. "I-I fuckin' lost him! Find his coordinates! Chekov?!"

Jim's eyes itched. "I lost him—"

"Lieutenant."

Jim spun around as a muffled voice came from behind him.

Spock stood there with his back straight and arms tucked behind his back. He stared at Jim before tilting his head to the side. "You are awake." He looked at the cable in his hands. "You are contacting Mr. Chekov?"

Jim felt his jaw go slack as he gawked blankly over at the other. His voice came out hushed and tight, "Spock…where _were_ you…?"

Spock lifted his chin. "I was observing the area. I awoke from meditation 2.4 hours before you. As you were in need of rest, I did not wake you."

Relief and _alivealivealiveokayhe'salive!_ filtered through Jim's brain. Dropping the cable, Jim closed the distance between them and grabbed Spock's thin arms in both hands—holding him, planting him in his spot. He squeezed his fingers around the Vulcan's small frame and _shook_. _"Never again!"_

Past the fog his breath made on his mask, Jim could see Spock go ridged in his grip, muscles tense.

_"You will not leave my sight, okay? Never! Never leave my sight!"_ Jim barked, using every ounce of the building energy in him to shake the living hell out of the boy.

Spock's eyes clouded with confusion and alarm before steeling themselves. Swiftly, he ripped his arms away from Jim and took five steps back. He glared at Jim darkly from beneath slanted brows. "You will refrain from touching me, Lieutenant," he said, voice rumbling like a storm through his mask.

Slowly, Jim caught his breath and the buzz under his skin dissipated. He swallowed before saying, "You've got to work with me here, okay? You've _got_ to. You can't just walk off without me. When you're awake, I'm awake. That's how this thing's going to work."

Spock face remained hard. He took another step away.

Jim felt his heart drop. He looked away and pulled up the helpless cable that dangled at his side. "I'm here to protect you," he mumbled as he slipped the cable back into the comm. He looked back at Spock. "I can't do that if you're not _with me_."

"I am not a child," Spock responded quickly.

Jim felt like scoffing. "Yeah? Well, you are to me."

Spock's eyes narrowed and his mask _sighed_. He dropped his head and turned his back on Jim. "I am sorry for causing you concern, Lieutenant," he said briskly.

Jim stared at the back of the boy's head with a small smile—yet the smile fell as he caught a glance of his oxygen levels. They read 26%. "Shit," he muttered, he'd burned up too much… "We gotta get out of the city or at least to one that hasn't been bombed."

At this, Spock turned back around, pale face vacant of any emotions that could have been there. "Agreed." He gestured down the walkway. "The exit to the gardens is this way. I calculate that if we walk for the remainder of the day, we will reach the port by tomorrow morning."

Jim nodded. "Cool, cool…" he paused to listen to his mask beep again. He sighed and jerked up the tank on his back. "Lead the way, kid."

Spock tilted his head quickly before turning and striding down the walkway.

_0-0-0_

Jim felt a pang of sadness when they stepped out of the gardens and into wreckage of East ShiKahr. There were no trees or happy little flowers or grass out here; everywhere Jim looked, there were _mounds_ of fucking dirt and the jagged shapes of towering buildings that blocked out the suns.

Casting one last look over at the gardens, Jim turned and jogged up next to Spock. "Remember," he said, "work with me. I tell you to duck, you fucking duck, and so on, 'kay?"

Besides him, Spock's eyebrows twitched. "Yes. I will…evade oncoming threats if you instruct for me to do so."

Jim smirked. "We're getting to understand each other, huh?"

"…I am growing accustom to your sizeable usage of profanity if that is what you are implying to," Spock answered.

Jim's smile stretched. "Hah, yeah…"

Ahead of them, a lopsided building casted a long shadow across the street. Jim quickened his paces slightly so that Spock walked behind him. Jim took in a sharp breath when they reached a slight turn in the street. He put a hand out.

"Stay here for sec," he said to Spock.

Jogging lightly, Jim reached the side of a building the curve went around. He leaned on it and peered around the corner. An empty cul-de-sac stared back at him. Large buildings with pointed tops circled the clearing like silent guards. Everything was quiet except the slow _drip drip drip_ that came from a bent fountain standing in the center. Jim felt a shiver go up his spine.

He looked back at Spock and flicked his hand. "It's a dead end."

Spock looked out into the cul-de-sac. "Not entirely." He pointed a slim finger to a building Jim could barely see. "The structure there is the academy that I study at. The academy is facing in the direction of the port."

"You go to an academy?"

Spock shot Jim a look.

Jim put his hands up defensively. "Okay. So, ah, at least we're going in the right direction." He shifted his tank and comm. before taking a slow step into the clearing. Jim waited—for anything really, maybe another surprise bullet—but nothing came.

He sniffed and walked all the way to the fountain. Jim stared. It was a rectangular slab of black marble with a circular base. The water the fountain held was murky and specked with pellets of dirt and rubble. The _drip_ continued to echo. Jim watched the beads of water slide down the slab before mixing with the dark pool below.

"Hmm," Jim could feel Spock come up behind him as he placed his hand on the Vulcan words engraved in the slab. His gloved finger traced the letter. They were the same inscriptions as on the wall-hanging in the first home that he and Spock went to. Jim turned his head, "Hey, what does this mean—"

In a blur, Jim's world spun as something hard slammed into his side. Jim let out a groan when his body collided with the ground and _slid_, stopping finally only for his shoulders to be pinned down. Knees and hands and _weight_ lay on top of Jim's chest, causing his lungs to shrink away and tightened. A small gasp escaped him as a cold line was placed to the side of his neck.

Steam clouded the outside of Jim's mask as the weight on him shifted closer to his face. Jim flinched his head back, burying himself in the confines of his mask. He (tried) to struggle, but the body on him was dense and unmovable. As the steam cleared, Jim could finally see the sharp grey eyes looking down at him.

The mask on his assailant's face _sighed_. _"Tu kic'blu tor tev-tor, kre'nath?" _ he growled in Vulcan.

Jim's eyes bugged as a rumbling voice boomed above him. "_WHAT?_!"

The Vulcan turned his hand and pressed the knife at Jim's neck closer. Grey eyes narrowed, dimming the fire that they held. _"Lau tu ket'lio k' t'nash-veh__sular."_

Jim watched, frozen, as the Vulcan pulled back the knife then brought it back down.

_"Rai!"_

It took every ounce of Jim's self-restraint not to piss in his suit as the knife stopped only millimeters from his neck. He gasped in a large lungful of air as the Vulcan pulled back from his chest.

The Vulcan looked over at Spock with raised eyebrows. Soon, his eyes squinted. _"Spock?"_

Jim gulped down air, ignoring the fact that the warning in his helmet now read 20%. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched Spock step closer to them. _"To-sai?"_

The Vulcan's knees jabbed into Jim's thighs as he pushed off of him. Standing, he towered over him. He shot Jim a look before walking over to Spock and taking his face in his hands. _"Spock… Qual se tu?"_

Spock nodded slowly. _"Ah."_

_"Ah,"_ the larger Vulcan sighed, leaning in and placing his forehead to Spock's. His eyes slid shut and they stood in silence.

Hacking, Jim managed to sit up. He rubbed at the two sore spots on his thighs and gawked over at the two Vulcans. "What the fuck?!" he yelled.

At this, both Vulcans opened their eyes. The larger one turned and fixed Jim with a cold glare while Spock blinked down at him. "Lieutenant, this is Tos. He is my third cousin."

Stiffly, Jim pushed himself off the ground. He swallowed as he caught his breath. "Well, that's fucking great, but why'd he have to attack me?!"

"Forgive me, Lieutenant," Tos replied in flawless English. "I did not know you were Human or that you were aiding one of my relatives."

Jim brushed off the dust that had collected on his suit. "_OH_, well in that case I guess it's all good," he bit out sarcastically.

Tos gave Jim a disapproving look then turned back to Spock. "I thought you dead."

"As did I," Spock replied.

"And what of your mother?"

Jim felt his gut tightened as Spock's face froze up. "She didn't make it," he said.

Tos turned to him with a questioning look before dipping his head. _"Tushah nash-veh k'du,"_ he whispered at Spock. "She was an honorable woman."

There was a moment of hesitation in Spock's words. "…Yes."

Jim scanned Spock's face before stepping forward so that his body was wedged between Spock's and Tos's. "So, what are you doing out here?" he asked.

He felt his nerves calm down slightly when Tos stepped back. The Vulcan glanced Jim up and down. "I have been looking for survivors," he started. "However, my wife, T'Lareth, and I have yet to be successful in this quest," he paused, "until now."

"Your wife?" Jim looked around. "Where is she?"

Tos cocked his head to the side. "We have taken shelter in my _sa'mekh'al's_ home." Jim watched the hulking alien gesture to the side of the cul-de-sac. "Please, follow me there. I do not wish to stay out in the open longer than necessary."

Jim shared a glance with Spock before nodding. "That would be awesome."

Tos's mask huffed and he turned, sweeping his arm around his side and sliding his long knife into the sheath at his hips. "This way," he rumbled.

Jim waited until Spock took the first step. "When we get there, I'll try to contact Chekov, see how our coordinates are holding up."

Spock nodded his head slightly. "A wise idea, Lieutenant."

"A wise idea, _Jim_?" Jim smirked.

Spock blinked but did not answer. He continued to walk after his cousin.

_0-0-0_

Tos held open the small curtain to the room open for Jim and Spock. Jim ushered Spock in then followed, bumping into the boy as he had stopped to discard of his shoes. Spock flashed him an annoyed look.

Jim looked down at his boots before sighing. "Fine." With some effort, Jim managed to sit on the floor of the doorway and gripped at one of his boots. With a grunt, he ripped the boot off and threw it at the corner where Spock had placed his. The air in the stone house brushed against Jim's blistering foot, making him shiver. He pried the other boot up and stood.

"This way," Tos said, leading him and Spock deeper into the house.

They followed and soon entered a rather large living room. The windows were covered with thick red drapes and the only furniture anywhere was a low table with a bowl of incense sitting on it. Jim stopped abruptly as he caught sight of the slender women who sat on a cushion near the table.

She sat with her hand folded in her lap, back perfectly straight. Her thin delicate face was covered by the bulk of a filter-mask. Jim let his eyes glance down at the woman's rounded stomach. She must have caught him staring as her slow voice broke through her mask, "I am expecting in 12.5 days."

Jim smiled. "That's…that's great."

T'Lareth tilted her head at him. "Thank you. You are Human."

Tos came and sat on the cushion next to his wife. He placed a large hand over the woman's stomach. Jim followed as Spock also took a seat around the low table. "I, ah, am Human," Jim answered.

T'Lareth studied him for a moment before turning her gaze to Spock. _"Nashaut, Spock."_

Besides Jim, Spock bowed his head. _"Nashaut."_

"This is Lieutenant…" Tos began. He looked at Jim sharply.

Jim blinked before shaking his head. "Ah… I'm Lieutenant James T. Kirk."

Tos dipped his head. "Lieutenant Kirk has been escorting Spock," he said to his wife."

T'Lareth's eyes glinted. "How honorable of you, Lieutenant."

"It's my job," Jim shrugged.

"And what is your occupation?"

Jim noticed Spock glance at him out of the corner of his eye. He sifted on his cushion. "I work for the Federation Special Operations Command—Alpha Team, to be specific."

There was a pause in the conversation. "And where are your teammates, Lieutenant?" T'Lareth asked.

Jim's gut tightened.

_"Ready?"_

He heard Pike's voice drift through his head before vanishing in a blaze of fire. Jim shook his head. "Th-They died…in a crash."

_His family_ died in a crash…

"Forgive me," T'Lareth said quickly. She rested a hand on top of her stomach, just brushing Tos's. "There has been too mush death this last week. My own sister was killed in Gol the day it was attacked."

Jim nodded and looked down at his lap. Too much death, he thought. He looked over at Spock.

Yeah, too much.

A deep growl suddenly filled the room. Jim's cheeks flared as the three Vulcan's stared over at him. He placed a hand over his stomach. "Ah…I haven't eaten in a while."

Tos cocked an eyebrow. "We are experiencing the same complication, Lieutenant."

"There is food," T'Lareth added, "yet we are unsure of its edibility. Our masks are also hindrances when dealing with the consumption of food." The woman looked down at her stomach. "I am…concerned that this absence of nutrition will affect my child."

"Nonsense," Tos glared at his wife. He slipped his hand off her stomach and stood. He looked down at Jim. "I overheard that you were in need of contacting a "Mr. Chekov." You may do so now."

With that, Tos left the room through another curtained entrance.

Jim stared after the Vulcan before looking back at T'Lareth. She caught his eyes then closed hers. "My husband has taken to…excessive prayer as of late. He thinks the Gods will help us through this war."

Spock finally broke his silence with a, "Do you not share his beliefs."

T'Lareth stared at Spock with a steady gaze. "My loyalty in the Gods have, admittedly, faltered. I find it reasonable that Tos still prays, yet I find it a…" she stopped and flicked her eyes to the side and back, "waste of my time."

Jim saw Spock swallow. "I too have disregarded prayer, yet far earlier than the events of this war."

"May I implore why?"

Spock's eyes slid shut. "I… My mother and father presented me with two separate religions. Because of this, my views on all religious practices were impaired." He paused. "I trust in logic and fact, not invisible beings."

T'Lareth let out a _hmm_. "Indeed. And what are your views, Lieutenant, if I may ask?"

Jim felt Spock's eyes glance at him. He stiffened. "Ah, I-I feel the same way as Spock," he shrugged. He felt Spock's eyes again. "I mean, I went through the same 'two-religions-in-one-house' type deal. My mom was an atheist and my stepdad was a good ol' Baptist boy. One tried to shovel the Gospel down my throat and the other wouldn't even talk about it so…ya know, I don't really have an opinion..."

Jim's voice faded as it stuck in his throat and the room went silent. He'd never spilled anything like that before—and Spock's eyes were still digging, digging for more of Jim than Jim would like him to see. T'Lareth stroked her stomach. "I believe the expression is, "To each his own."."

The eyes fell away and suddenly Jim could breathe again…

Jim jumped in his seat as Tos strode into the room. T'Lareth tilted her head up at him but said nothing, she continued to touch the barrier between her and her child. Tos looked around the room before sitting. He crossed his legs and placed both palms on his knees. He looked at Jim. "Lieutenant, have you finished contacting your acquaintance?"

Jim blinked over at the Vulcan before cursing. He fiddled with the comm. on his back and pulled it around so that it sat on the table. "I'll do that now," he muttered, pulling the speaker cable out and pressing the 'POWER' button. The comm.'s screen buzzed to life. Jim put the cable next to his mask. "Mr. Chekov? This is Lieutenant Kirk, do you read?"

Static filled the room.

Jim frowned over at Spock and tried again.

More static.

"There is a possibility that the person you are trying to contact is unavailable at the moment," T'Lareth piped up when Jim put the cable down.

"That or all communication from and to Vulcan has finally been severed," Tos added.

T'Lareth flashed a glare over at her husband. She turned softer eyes to Jim. "A delay in transmission might also be the cause…"

Jim looked up from the comm. as T'Lareth trailed off. He frowned when he saw her sitting motionless, sharp ears twitching. "What?" he asked, eyes traveling over to Tos. He mimicked his wife—still, listening.

Jim leaned back in confusion and looked over at Spock. The boy sat like a statue, ears pricked. Jim's stomach sank as he realized he'd seen Spock do this before. "What, Spock?" he demanded.

The small Vulcan's eyes shifted from their distant stare to lock with Jim's. Jim shook his head. "Spock wha—"

Before Jim could finish, Spock launched himself at him, toppling both of them over and pinning Jim's body to the ground. Jim's teeth bit down on his tongue _hard_, causing blood to swell up in his mouth. He tensed under Spock. "What…"

Jim managed to see Tos pulling up T'Lareth from her seat, his eyes wide and panicked, before there was a _hissing_ and the world turned to smoke.

_0-0-0_

Jim blinked and blinked against the cloud of brown that swamped over his mask. He could hear crumbling and breaking and _screaming_ but couldn't move. He twisted, disoriented in the murk, and reached out a blind hand. His fingers latched around something firm.

_"Spock?!"_ Jim shouted, shapes blurring together through the smoke.

"I am here," Spock answered and Jim tensed as a hand met his.

Jim coughed as his throat was suddenly sore. He lifted his free hand so that it was right in front of his face, yet the smoke was so dense, so fucking thick. "Wh-What happened?! I can't see anything!"

The hand on his gripped harder. "Nor can I, Lieutenant. We were bombed." Spock tugged his arm. "We must evacuate the building immediately."

Jim blinked and breathed and blinked and turned and looked. "This is Cloud 9?" he shook. He was so lost, not even Spock's grip could help him find his way. There was a _beep_, his mask warning him to _slow down_. His percentage was reaching 5%. Jim took in a shaky breath. "Where're the others?!" he managed.

From _somewhere_, Spock's mask huffed. "I do not know. At the moment my eyes are shut." Jim was jerked to the side as Spock pulled him. "We must go."

Jim blinked and patted his free hand on the ground. He pushed himself up and stood. He turned his head, but all there was was smoke.

A _beep_.

_4%._

"Follow me, Lieutenant," Spock called out from the murk. Jim was tugged to the left…or the right, he didn't know. The world was upside down.

A _beep_.

_3%._

Slowly, Jim lifted his bare foot and stepped forward. He did this again, yet this time his foot stamped down on a chard of something. Jim yelled.

_Beep_.

_2%._

There was another tug and Jim shuffled along with the debris sticking from the sole of his foot. He cringed as it dug deep. "Spock?" Jim called. He took a step then fumbled, losing Spock's hand.

_Beep_.

_1%._

"Lieutenant!" Spock's voice called out sharply.

Jim looked around from his spot on the ground. He reached out his hands, crossing them in the air and uncrossing them, searching for something. He flinched back as his hand touched something soft.

_Beep._

_[O2 LVLS DEPLETED/_ _O2 LVLS DEPLETED/_ _O2 LVLS DEPLETED.]_

Jim gasped as suddenly his mask seemed to close around him. He was breathing in nothing.

Patting his hand out again, Jim's fingers connected to the soft object. He panted as he felt around more, feeling a bulk and then and nose—eyes. A shiver shot up Jim's arms as he slid his hand under the head of the faceless body he touched. His chest tightened constantly as his fingers fumbled with the small latches of the filter-mask. Jim gasped and held and _ached_. He finished with the last clasp and ripped the mask off.

Clenching his teeth together and shutting his eyes, Jim ripped his mask off, throwing it far out into the smog, hearing it hit the ground and shatter. It jerked him slightly to the side as the tube connecting it and the empty tank tautened. Jim's face turned a bright red as he continued to shut off his lungs while he desperately slipped out of his tank. He threw it.

In one quick movement, Jim slapped the filter-mask in his hand to his mouth and _breathed_. One rough cough after another shook him was his itching lungs down clean air. Jim's shaky fingers latched the clasps of the mask together behind his head. He drank the air that rushed over his lips and nose.

Then, gradually, Jim's eyes blinked open.

The smoke had thinned, but it still hung to the air like a disease. Jim squinted against it before looking down. His stomach churned as Tos's lifeless face stared back at him.

His eyes were bulging out of his skull, wide and stricken with fear. His mouth was hanging open limply, a small line of green blood sliding from its corner. Jim let his eyes travel up to the large dent in the Vulcan's forehead where debris had struck him.

Jim gave a breathy groan and shut his eyes. "Fuck." he sniffed and patted at Tos's still chest. "Fuck."

"Lieutenant…"

Jim's eyes shot open as T'Lareth's voice called out to him.

Crawling, Jim dragged himself over to the woman who laid only feet away from her husband. _"Oh, Jesus!"_ Jim cried as he got a good look at the large fragment of wall that pinned the Vulcan to the ground.

T'Lareth's sharp eyes stared up at him now dim and glossy. She had one hand on her stomach while the other flopped at her side, clawing to get at Jim.

He grabbed it. "Oh my God…" he whimpered.

T'Lareth said nothing, but blinked up at Jim with a look that he could not place. He watched her move her hand from his belly to slide the mask on her face down past her chin. Jim blinked in awe at the woman's face, now unhidden, completely open. She stared up at him.

"T… T'Karik…" she whispered.

Jim's eyes widened. "What?"

T'Lareth blinked then the corner of her mouth curled. "T'Karik. That's what I wanted to name her…" Jim watched as T'Lareth rubbed at her stomach. "That's…her name…"

Bile burned up the sides of Jim's throat as an itch stormed the back of his eyes. He tightened his hold on the woman's hand and nodded.

"It means strong-lady…" T'Lareth whispered, eyes rolling back in her head slightly.

Jim didn't know what to say, so he kept nodding.

"Hmm…" T'Lareth's chest rose and fell with a small sigh.

Jim almost vomited when her eyes fluttered shut. Hissing through his teeth, Jim let go of T'Lareth's hand and rocked back. He gripped at his head, squeezing, trying to somehow crush the pain in his skull. He hissed again as his body shook.

_"Don't be afraid, James…"_

"Lieutenant!"

Jim jumped as a hand slammed down on his shoulder. Whipping his head around, his bleary eyes found Spock's.

The boy stared at him through half hooded eyes. "We must go!"

Jim shot T'Lareth's body one last look before stiffly standing up and leaning into Spock. The Vulcan grunted then pushed Jim away. "Quickly," he snapped and took off. Jim followed, bloody feet barley registering in his mind.

Spock led them through the jagged opening in the building the bomb had left. Jim watched him jump the rubble that blocked the opening and he did the same, a large rock slicing up his thigh in the process. Jim stumbled to a stop behind Spock as the boy looked around.

The small area of buildings was covered in a blanket of twisted smoke. Other houses were now piles of smoldering wreckage. Jim blinked against the burn the haze created over his eyes and looked up. In the distant murk of the sky, a rotorcraft flies away, smoke trailing from its rear. He coughed as Spock snapped, "We will go to the academy."

Jim coughed again. "Just _go_!"

Spock's mask huffed before he darted to the side, rushing down the foggy street, bare feet slapping against the ground. Jim followed, gripping at the sore in his shoulder and the cut in his leg.

They ran until the broke through to the cul-de-sac. Jim froze for a moment to gawk at the completely demolished fountain that once stood there; the _drip_ no longer sounded. "Lieutenant!" Spock shouted.

Jim blinked then ran after Spock, desperately trying to ignore the distant sounds of more bombs being dropped and more lives being taken.

* * *

Chapter 7! Ugh, this was _lovely_ to write.

**(Rough Translation:)**

_"Tu kic'blu tor tev-tor, kre'nath?" - _"You have come to die, bastard?"

___"Lau tu ket'lio k' t'nash-veh__sular."_ - "May you burn like my people."

_"Rai!" - _"No!"

_"To-sai?" - _Other way to say Tos.

_"...Quel se tu?" - _"...Is that you?"

_"Ah." - _"Yes."

___"Tushah nash-veh k'du,"_ - "I grieve with thee."


End file.
